Everything's Not Lost
by Antoinette Rose
Summary: Meet Thomas Andrews' only child, who joins her father on the maiden voyage of Titanic, at his request. He hopes this trip will bring up his daughter's spirits and a chance meeting may do just that. I'm awful at summaries, but everyone says that!
1. Author's Disclaimer

First off, I want to say that I am an enormous _Titanic_ fan. I began writing this fan-fiction maybe a week or so ago and one of my friends, and now a Thomas Andrews freak—convinced me to post it here. I have always adored Thomas Andrews/Victor Garber, so when we watched the movie, my love for this man just came alive once more. I really do love the movie and the ship—but now I tend to watch it only because of Victor. (Kidding!)

I know a few stories have been written about Thomas Andrews and or his children. While looking on the first page for the movie fiction, I saw one fan-fiction about Thomas Andrews's daughter already! I guess I'm a little late on this and turns out, Thomas Andrews is quite a popular guy! If something happens to be similiar in my story to someone else's, please realize that this is a mere coincidence. I normally don't read fan-fiction. The only Thomas Andrews story I ever read was entitled "My Affair with the Master Shipbuilder" and was that fantastic! Anyway, this story is still a work in progress and the chapters are not all that long, but they are split up for a reason, as in one chapter shows a particular scene/day/emotion or what-not. Don't be scared with all of the chapters! They are generally short.

In this fan-fiction, we meet Antoinette Andrews, Thomas Andrews's daughter. (And before I am corrected, I do realize that Thomas Andrews's real daughter in real life was named Elizabeth—but I thought I'd fictionalize it a bit more! It is a fan-fiction, after all.) She is one unhappy young woman and ends up boarding _Titanic_ with her father—who thought getting away from everything she knew would put her in higher spirits. Of course, something happens! It's a story, of course something's got to happen!

As a usual: I do not own _Titanic_, or anything having to do with it. I mean no disrespect to the passengers or crew of the actual ship and I hope this story is taken with a light heart and an open mind. Of course, if you like, you can image Thomas Andrews as Victor Garber, because in my mind—him and only him could portray Thomas Andrews.

Sincerely yours,

The Author 


	2. Chapter One

"Alright, now close your eyes." My father covered my eyes with his hands. "Open the doors!" he shouted to someone who I obviously, couldn't see. It was so windy outside the large shipyard, I could barely stand up straight, let alone close my eyes! I could hear large doors opening in front of me, as if they were large red barn doors, that echo. "Open them." He dropped his hands to his sides as I opened my eyes. And there she is. The Titanic.

My father's pride and joy, his masterpiece. To me, it merely looks like a rather large ship, nothing that special. I know how important the ship is to my father, he spent months working on the blueprints and practically had a cot at the White Star Line shipyard. I am sort of amazed myself, that whenever my father was gone, I would always just stare at the blueprints, in awe. I have the whole ship practically memorized. I'm not sure when I'll ever need that information, but I suppose it's a good thing when you know where you're going on such a large ship.

Her bow was away from us (I suppose boats are always considered female, I've never been quite sure of why), so the stern read in simple white lettering, RMS TITANIC.

"Well, what do you think?" he asked me, taking a step to my right. I glanced at him and then back at the ship. He has this enormous smile on his face, as if he was a child seeing a Christmas tree light up. It looks like a ship to me. What am I supposed to actually say to him, so I won't break his spirit? "You don't like it," he decided immediately.

"No, no!" I argued, taking his arm. "It's…it's just…it's so _big_."

"She's the largest ship in the world," a voice uttered behind us. Both of us turned and standing there was a man with a large brown handlebar mustache and matching hair, wearing a brown suit. He was the same height as my father, so he looked somewhat down at me. "Hello, Thomas."

"Bruce, hello." Whoever this Bruce fellow was, he was making me uncomfortable. He seemed to be staring at me, eyeing me up and down. I don't particularly liked being stared at like that, especially by the likes of this grease ball. "You're one of the first to see her, Ann," my father continued.

"Isn't she marvelous?" Bruce asked me. I managed a nod.

"My daughter isn't much into shipbuilding!" my father laughed.

"Your _daughter_?" He nodded.

"Yes. This is Antoinette. Ann, this is Bruce Ismay, one of the few who envisioned Titanic for what she is right now." Ismay took this opportunity to his full advantage, taking my hand.

"Pleasure to meet you," he said, with an incredibly creepy grin.

"You, too," I lied, showing a fake smile. I glanced at my father, my hand still in Ismay's, begging for him to realize how uncomfortable I was.

"Well, anything you'd like to see?" my father asked quickly, noticing the discomfort, taking my hand out of Ismay's and wrapping it around his arm. Ismay kept his eyes on me, however, and I could feel his eyes burning into me. I shrugged.

"I don't see any lifeboats," I said suddenly.

"She's an unsinkable ship, Miss Andrews! Nothing can sink her!" Ismay said with a hearty laugh. I stared at him skeptically. "Really, she is. You do read the papers, don't you?"

"Sure do," I said, with a large smile. I can read, you idiot.

"They're on the side, darling," my father said, pointing them out to me. "See them?" I nodded. I could now see workers putting their final touches on Titanic, whereas before the ship seemed to be empty—it was now bubbling with energy. I see also what looked to be lifeboat drills. Men were bringing the boats up and down the side of the ship, yelling to one another.

"Thomas, those lifeboats are a waste of deck space," Ismay muttered to my father.

"You never can be too sure," was my father's reply. "See, Ann, they're brand-new lifeboats, new design. You can actually fit a row of boats inside those—" He gestured to the boat's sitting on Titanic's desk for a second time.

"Waste of beautiful hardwood," Ismay said, with an enormous sigh. My father tried not to roll his eyes.

"To you, Bruce, they are. To me they keep my passengers content."

"There aren't that many," I mentally noted aloud as I counted the lifeboats. My father grimly nodded, before glancing over at Ismay, who was looking away for a mere moment. Ismay. That's when there was a crash. Everyone jumped and turned in the general direction of the clamping sound. One of the lifeboats had fallen off of the pulley system and fallen onto the cement floor, bouncing like a rubber ball.

"We only have so many boats!" Ismay shouted, brushing past us and into the building that held my father's ship. "Don't you have any idea of what you're doing!?" he shouted at the men on board.

"Not really, sir," one Irishman replied. "This pulley system is difficult—"

"Must I show you everything?" was Ismay's reply as he ran towards the flipped over lifeboat. I glanced at my father, who was trying not to laugh. "Lifeboats my eye!" he yelled angrily, kicking the boat.

"He needs to learn patience," I decided out loud. He nodded, trying not to laugh. He then turned serious.

"There do need to be more lifeboats, however," he told me suddenly.

"Then, put them on."

"I was overruled by Bruce and the White Star Line."

"Can't you appeal?"

"Tried. It was no use. I thought about perhaps putting more lifeboats on deck once we get to New York, but it seems so useless to do when Ismay will order them off once he realizes they're there." He sighed, running a hand through his graying hair. "The ship's made of iron, Ann. It _can_ sink. That's the frightening part." He paused. "Titanic's slogan was to read, _practically_ unsinkable—the papers took out the practically part." He looks worried now.

"Daddy, I'm sure the maiden voyage will be fine," I attempted to reassure him. He glanced at me and when I smiled, he sighed heavily.

"Yes, I suppose you're right." He stared up at his masterpiece once again. "And we'll be there to see how everyone reacts."

"It's incredible," I decided suddenly. He pointed to Titanic suddenly, squeezing my hand.

"…And one day, my Antoinette, she'll be yours. One day."


	3. Chapter Two

"Ann, I don't know why you're so melancholy." I've been sitting on the couch, refusing to look around our suite on my father's ship, for what feels like minutes—In reality, it's been hours. It's only been hours since everyone with a ticket for the RMS Titanic, including my father and I had boarded, and the sun was beginning to set—making everything on the deck of the ship glimmer. It was strange looking, I can't really describe it. I know how beautiful it actually is, but I can't even bring myself to even walk about. I just want to lock myself in my bedroom until we dock in America.

I could hear the shuffling of trunks around us, in the rooms on either side of our suite, and men in uniforms were still bringing our own things into our room. "Antoinette." I didn't answer my father. I know I should. It's usually serious when he calls me by my full name—after all, it was the name he chose for me. My father sat down beside me, all dressed up for dinner, wrapping an arm around me. "You can tell me," he gently reassured me. I stood up, walking towards the fireplace, making sure I was facing away from him.

"It's nothing," I lied.

"Antoinette, we both know that's a lie." He stood up, his reflection in the mirror above the fireplace coming towards me. "I don't understand what's bothering you." I turned to face him. Even if I knew what was wrong, I wouldn't confess my sins to my father. Doesn't he already have enough on his plate? In reality, I'm not sure what's been making me feel so down lately.

"It's _nothing_." He raised an eyebrow at me skeptically. "Really."

"Do you miss your mother?" he asked me, grasping at straws. I shook my head. She's too proper to deal with for more than a few hours on a good day. "I knew she should've come along—"

"She didn't have to come, Daddy. She likes England."

"I know she does. Maybe a change of scenery would do her some good." He paused. "I thought perhaps it might do some good for you, too, darling." I managed a nod. "Antoinette, just talk to me."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"You've retreated into yourself." I glanced up from the mantle to his reflection in the mirror, unsure of what to make of that. I suppose I have retreated into myself. I guess we have my mother to blame for that. She always would tell me I talk too much, that I was too opinionated, too giggly, to ever meet a suitable husband.

_"You have to live up to your name, Antoinette,"_ she'd always say to me. I was never good enough to be a lady, according to my mother. My father, even if his name was Thomas Andrews and would now go down in history of the White Star Line and perhaps the world as building the largest ship on Earth, the most luxurious ship one could possibly hope to travel on—he never cared much for society. _"You are the daughter of Thomas Andrews,"_ my mother's voice echoed back and forth as I stared blankly at my father. _"Your name is Antoinette Andrews. You must embody what your father holds dear."_

"Have I retreated?" I asked stupidly, knowing what his answer would be. He nodded, giving me a confused look.

"Yes. I thought for a moment or so you had gone mute." He managed a laugh, turning me to face him. "We'll get out of the suite—You need air. How about we go to dinner?" I shook my head.

"I'm not that hungry," I replied, brushing past him and sitting back down on the couch.

"Well, we can take a tour, if you'd like." I know the ship just as well as him—I just don't know if my father realizes that little fact yet. Stupid blueprints pulled me in and I could never quite look away.

"In the dark?" I asked skeptically.

"Don't you know me well enough to know I put lights everywhere?" He chuckled. I tried to smile, but I feel as though I don't have the strength. "I'd love for you to meet the ship's crew. The captain, the officers—"

"Do I have to?" I asked. He hesitated, but shook his head.

"No, you don't have to." He sighed. "Antoinette, you do need to go out and deal with others eventually, you know." I'm trying to avoid that for as long as humanly possible. "I do have to go to dinner, though. I have to make my appearances." He smiled at me. "Your mother really should've come aboard. She lives for the socializing."

"She should've. There's always a next time, I suppose."

"Are you sure you don't want to come to dinner?" I looked down at my dress, realizing the anxiety and stress of getting changed into the proper attire for dinner. "I can buzz for Mary and…" His voice faded from my ears at the sound of that maid's voice. She's nice enough and English, but she sometimes ties my corset way too tight and I can scarcely breathe.

"Daddy, really, I'm okay." He managed a nod, kissing me on the head.

"Alright, then. I'll bring you back something, alright?" I nodded. He sounds so disappointed that I wasn't coming along, but I really can't take the mindless talking tonight. I just don't have the patience or the energy to deal with all of the first-class society people. As he opened the door, I tried not to look so relieved. He turned to face me. "Antoinette?" I looked up from the carpet to him.

"Yes?"

"…I, I love you." He paused. "You know that, don't you?" He stared at me, his eyes full of sadness and confusion. I smiled at him, a true smile—a smile that has been hidden for so long, bobbing my head up and down.

"Yes, I do. I love you, too." When he shut the door, I almost started to bawl. Standing up, I made my way for the door. When his footsteps were out of my earshot, I knew what I had to do. I need to take my tour on my own schedule. I grabbed my gray coat, my key and out the door I went.


	4. Chapter Three

I roamed the wine-red, carpeted halls of the first class, unsure of where I was going. I had never even looked up when I had boarded the ship, I had kept my eyes at my feet. My mother always said that's where women's eyes belonged, not roaming about. My mother needs to get a grip on life, I know—but that's how she is. Why my father ever married her, I'll never know. She's always the one to start the arguments. It's kind of nice to know, in my own mind, that I won't have to deal with her correcting me through this whole voyage. _"A young woman such as yourself, Antoinette, should not be roaming about a luxury liner by yourself,"_ she would say to me. So much for that theory. _"You need a companion to show you the sights."_ The life according to my mother, Mrs. Thomas Andrews, consists of me sitting, staring at walls, sitting some more, and so forth. Even when I try to act like a lady, my father thinks I'm losing my mind. I can't win.

As I passed an elevator, a voice asked, "Looking for an elevator, Miss?" I glanced over my shoulder at the elevator operator, probably excited to even operate machinery.

"Not really," I replied, walking towards the open doors to get a good look at its' operator.

"If you're looking for any place in particular, I may be able to assist," he conjured on.

"Thank you, but I—I know where I'm going." I'm sure he must be thinking that's what every person passing that elevator says, as they go around in circles. In reality, I have somewhat of an idea where I'm going.

I continued to follow the carpeting until I came upon large glass doors made of honey oak, with two men standing there in tuxedos. Door openers? My father has truly thought of anything. "Is that the dining hall?" I asked one man standing at attention, but seemed to be eyeing.

"Yes, Miss. Care to go inside?" I nodded as they both opened the doors for me. I scurried in, picking up the trail of my dress, thanking them profusely. That's when I saw the dome. It was shining above everyone down the staircases and even at me, as if the stars knew where they should be shining. Dear God, it's even more lovely than I could've imagined. I leaned against a railing to get a good look at the done, realizing now its' made of glass, etched so you can't see outside, but allows for the light to shine through. Just breathtaking.

I looked down at what was at the bottom of the staircase. Just angel figurines adorned the end of the handrails. It seemed to be deserted. No reason to be a lady with nobody around. My mother would slit my throat if she knew I even had thoughts like that! I gripped the handrail, grasping my dress train, taking the ring sewn to the corner and placing it onto my right wrist. As I followed each pristine step of the staircase, I'm more in awe with each passing moment. I can't believe my father built this. I can't believe I was so naïve to say to him that the ship was really big. Had I seen Titanic's interior, maybe I would've had some idea of what he was talking about when I had seen in the papers Titanic being called the _Ship of Dreams_. It really is!

When I reached the last step, a load moan, almost as if the ship was alive, made me jump. Dear God, what was that!? As the moan dissipated from the air, I could hear voices talking amongst themselves. I began to follow the voices, finding another set of stairs. I scurried down them, I can see their beauty afterwards. When I hit the last step, there was a rather large dining hall ahead of me, inside two open oak doors. To the right, there was merely wall, to the left there was open glass. I suppose that's so others can see what's going on outside of the hall? I shrugged. I don't really know. That's when I saw him.

My father, sitting with the officers of the Titanic, E.J. Smith the experienced captain, and a few rich, first-class passengers. There seems to be only one empty seat, beside my father. I suppose that's where I was to sit. I can see Bruce Ismay, with his greased-up hair, and is that Molly Brown? I met her once a few months ago and she was so American, I adored her. "And what about the ship, Thomas?" Ismay's voice echoed through the room and towards me. I ran for the wall beside the doors so I could hear properly. My father looked up from his notebook that he was scribbling in and looked slightly confused.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"The ship, Thomas, the ship!" Ismay repeated.

"Oh. Oh. The ship…" his voice trailed off as he continued to write.

"He's merely worried about that daughter of his," Ismay decided. _That daughter_? Was that an insult?

"Antoinette, Bruce. Her name is Antoinette." Molly, who was sitting to his left, gave him a concerned look.

"Well, what seems to be the trouble?" she asked him. My father shrugged.

"I have no idea."

"What do you mean, you have no idea?" Molly started to laugh, slapping my father on the back. "Just ask!"

"I've tried."

"Women," Ismay muttered. Did he just _roll_ his eyes? I don't think he holds women too dear or close to his heart, but that's my opinion.

"She's not just a woman, Bruce," my father corrected. "She's my daughter."

"I know that, Thomas, I just—" My father shook his head at Ismay.

"If you must refer to her at all, refer to her as Antoinette." Ismay managed a nod. I glanced around the around of the table, and the officers seemed to be extremely quiet. One was fiddling with his hat, that was sitting on the table next to his plate, another was fixing his cufflinks. No one seemed that interested.

"Thomas, I'm sure she's fine," Molly attempted to reassure him.

"She's not. She has barely spoken a word, cracked a smile for months."

"From what I remember, she was vivacious, very talkative, very sweet…" her voice trailed off as my father nodded.

"That's how she was. I don't know what to do. She reassures me everything's fine." I know everything's not fine, but I'm just not sure what's actually wrong. Maybe my mother's complaining about my being unladylike is catching up with me. He gestured to the empty chair beside him. "It's not like her to not want to come." Molly chuckled.

"I don't blame her!" she laughed. "Get her to come to breakfast. I'll get her to talk." How will she? My father nodded, saying something I couldn't make out to the waiter, while pointing to a menu.

"Just make sure it's covered so it stays hot!" he shouted as the waiter left the hall, and went towards the kitchen. He sighed, rubbing his forehead.

"I was hoping to give her a tour," he said to Captain Smith.

"Well, tomorrow's supposed to be fine weather," the Captain said, with a slight smile. "I'm sure the crew would be happy to meet her." The officers glanced up at their superior, all nodding.

"Sure," one said, with a slight smile.

"Hell, why not?" was another's reply. There was suddenly a slight tap on my shoulder and I jumped, gasping as I almost fell over. The taper managed to catch me as I turned to face him.

"You alright, Miss?" asked a heavy British accented voice. A uniformed officer stood in front of me as his arms dropped to his sides. I managed a nod.

"You almost gave me a heart attack," I whispered to him, backing away from the door so no one would notice us.

"I do apologize." He held out his hand. "Officer William Murdoch." I grasped his hand, shaking it slightly.

"Antoinette Andrews." He smiled at me, almost as if he recognized me.

"So, you're _Antoinette_?" He gestured to the dining hall behind us. "Thomas Andrews's daughter?"

"Sadly, I am. I'm a little young to be his wife, don't you think?" He laughed.

"I've seen many strange age differences, Miss Andrews." I hate that _Miss Andrews_ formality—it makes me feel like an old matron. I don't even have the strength to tell him to just call me by my real name. Why can't I be more like Molly Brown? I used to be—My mother corrupted me.

"Am I not what you've expected…?" I asked. He managed a laugh as our hands dropped to our sides.

"No. Your father's been raving about you all night, Miss Andrews." Is he deaf or something?

"That's not what I heard," I replied, with a slight smile. "Anyway, I'm off." I can't have my father find me here. I'll hear about this through the whole voyage, my luck. I hesitated. "Do me a favor, would you?" I've got nothing to lose by asking. "Don't tell anyone you saw me here."

"Sure," he said, somewhat perplexed. "But, why…?" I could hear chairs being pushed in, and footsteps coming towards the door

"I can answer anything tomorrow morning," I told him, putting a gentle hand on his arm. "I promise." I quickly glanced over my shoulder.

"Alright, I'll keep my mouth shut." I smiled.

"Thank you." My dress's train had ended up on the floor again, so I grabbed it with my hand and began to run up the stairs.

"Be careful!" he hissed at me. I quickly glanced at him, managing a smile.

"I will be." And I left William Murdoch alone just as the dinner party flooded into the hallway I was just standing in.

"Anyone care for a brandy?" Bruce Ismay's voice made me roll my eyes. He is such a grease ball.


	5. Chapter Four

"Antoinette, I promise you, this won't be as awful as you may think." I glanced at my father skeptically as we stood outside the lunching hall. Breakfast. Why must we have three meals a day—and why must every meal have its' own _hall_? It never makes sense! "Really, it won't be bad," he said aloud, as if more to himself than to me.

"What if it is _that _awful?" I conjured on. I don't want to even go in, but I suppose being Thomas Andrews's daughter is not an easy task. Only one woman on this Earth can say she's his child, but this is getting a tad ridiculous.

I kept my eyes ahead of me, through the glass doors of the lunching hall and I could see our table. At least, I think it's my table. It was everyone from last night: the Captain, the officers, Molly Brown, and that supposed gentleman, Ismay. Oh, and there's Will. A familiar face, thankfully. I watched closely as the officers took off their hats, must be out of respect, and sat down.

"It won't be _that_ bad, I promise. It's just breakfast, darling."

"What if it is?" My father smiled at me.

"Then, you can lie, say you have a stomachache and we can leave. How's that?" I almost laughed out loud, but nodded.

"Alright." As two men opened the doors into the lunching hall, my father held onto my arm even tighter as we made our way to the table.

"Well, if it isn't Thomas Andrews!" Molly Brown said, with a laugh, standing up to shake my father's hand.

"Hello, Molly." She then turned her attention to me and took my hand, shaking it vigorously.

"And hello to you, Antoinette," she said with a wide smile. I shook her hand. "So nice to see you again."

"Hello, Mrs. Brown," I said softly.

"Oh, come now! Formalities, formalities—The name's Molly, don't you remember?"

"Of course," I said, with a tiny shrug. She raised an eyebrow at me.

"Why, you're a quiet little chickadee today, aren't you?" She gave this look to my father, as if, _I didn't realize it was this bad_, as my father gestured to the Captain.

"Well, Ann, I might as well introduce you to the crew," my father began as the Captain and the officers stood up. The Captain was the first to take my hand.

"Captain E.J. Smith. So nice to finally meet you."

"Antoinette."

"Officer Henry Wilde," said an older man.

"Officer James Moody," said another.

"Officer Charles Lightoller," said a pristine Britain.

"Officer William Murdoch," said the familiar face. He winked at me, remembering me from the night before. The last in the row was a tall, pale officer, who didn't look any younger than me. He held out his hand, like all the others, and said, "Officer Harold Lowe." He didn't even make eye contact until after he spoke. He glanced down at me, stopped unexpectedly and burst into a large smile.

"Antoinette," I said, like I had said so many times in a matter of seconds. As we dropped hands, he kept staring at me—but it wasn't a creepy, Ismay glare that I had grown so accustomed to these past few days, it was a look of curiosity. It felt like minutes must've went by, but in reality—I realize it must've only been seconds. That's when my father cleared his throat, breaking our glare at one another.

"Alright, then," my father said, pulling me out of my mind as he pulled out my chair. "Now that you've met everyone…"

"How about we eat?" Molly intervened. As I sat down, I didn't dare look at any of the officers sitting across from me. It was in the same order they were introduced, as to how they were sitting. The Captain was at the end of the table to my left, and then to his left was Wilde, Moody, Lightoller, Will and then this Harold Lowe character.

Talk began to fill the air, mostly Ismay who was feeling the need to feed his large ego this morning. Then again, I think that's no different from any other day. The whole room was filled with hot air, from our table and the other passengers around us. It was stifling.

Chattering. That's all I hear, the only sound that's coming into my ears. They just keep talking on and on—I can't believe my father convinced me to come to breakfast this morning! I was perfectly content on having lukewarm food for the rest of the voyage, but could Antoinette have that? Of course not.

"Ann?" That would make my life a tad easier. _"Being respectful and letting the men speak at meals is the ladylike thing to do_," my mother would've said before we had even entered the lunching area for breakfast, had she been on board. I am so glad she hates to travel.

"Ann!" Margaret Brown, I'm sorry—_Molly_ Brown, pulled me out of my own head as she placed a hand on my wrist. I glanced to my right as she sort of laughed, puzzled as of why I didn't answer her before.

"I'm sorry, what?" I asked softly to her as an officer began to speak.

"You going to order?" she asked, gesturing to the waiter standing in between us. Right. Eat. Food. Energy. All good words.

"I suppose a fruit cup is fine," I told the waiter as he took my unread menu off of the table.

"A _fruit cup_?" Margaret asked me skeptically. My father, to my left, shot me a look, too, one of confusion. "No wonder you're so thin! You need to put some meat on those bones, girl." My father stifled a chuckle.

"I'll be fine," I said simply, not wanting to make eye contact. I know Ismay's staring at me, and it's making me extremely uncomfortable. He's frightening to look at. I glanced up time to time, to see that Lowe character staring at me, too. Well, he seems to be in a sort of dreamlike state. Do I have three heads today? What am I doing that is so interesting, that everyone in this room feels the need to be staring at me? If anything, I'm keeping my eyes at my father's notebook on the table. He just keeps scribbling and writing, and drawing…is he drawing coat racks? Oh, that notebook must be taken away from him before he goes mad.

When the breakfast was delivered, I hardly noticed until a waiter placed the fruit I had ordered in front of me. How can I possibly eat? I can't eat and be watched at the same time. I took a grape and popped it into my mouth as I tried not to look as tense as I feel. "Is that all you're going to eat?" my father whispered in my ear. I managed a nod.

"I suppose I'm not that hungry."

"That's not like you, Ann…" I shook my head at him when I realized all eyes at the table were on us. I leaned in towards his ear.

"Don't worry about it," I replied. Molly cleared her throat, feeling the need to intervene.

"Well, Antoinette, what do you think of Bruce and your father's work on Titanic?" She smiled at me as I sat up straight once again in my chair.

"It's wonderful," I said simply, taking another grape and plopping it into my mouth.

"That's it?" Ismay asked, with a slight tinge of sarcasm, with a laugh. Molly shot him a look.

"I think it's something that is too good to be true," I conjured on, staring intently at Ismay. I could see out of the corner of my eye my father smile proudly. "To think it was just something on paper, and now it's actually being sailed to America—Well, that's an accomplishment within itself." I paused. "Of course, that's my opinion. I may be biased—I _am_ the Master Shipbuilder's daughter, after all." I shrugged, unsure of what else to say. I could see the officers in front of me at the table hide a smile. Will and Lowe however, had the largest grins on their faces.

"It is an honor to even have been considered to be on this ship's crew," Will spoke up. Lowe managed a nod. "I never thought I'd be sitting here with the Master Shipbuilder and his daughter, on Titanic's maiden voyage." Will gave me a look, with a hidden smile. If he only knew me.

Except for the fact that he may think of me now as a maniac, nobody at this table knows a thing about me. My relation solely on this ship, how everyone knows who I am, is because of my father. Nobody even has the common courtesy to remember my name—It's always "Oh, that's Thomas Andrews's daughter. Pretty little thing." I tried not to roll my eyes. I am so proud of my father, and I'd like to think he knows that. I'm not sure if he does, but I'd like to think he knows.

"Anything you'd like to add, Miss Andrews?" Ismay asked, in a somewhat mocking tone. All of the looks Molly shot him did me no good. He makes it sound like I'm as dumb as a rock. I sighed as his eyes continued to drill into me.

"Yes, I think this would be a great opportunity to leave." I stood up as my father's eyes went wide. "Excuse me."

"Ann, wait—" I didn't listen to him as he attempted to grab my wrist. I walked out of the lunching hall and out onto the deck. "See what you did!" my father yelled at Ismay. "I just got her to leave our room as it is—"

"She'll come back," Ismay responded casually. I know he's still staring at me. I'm going to spoon his eyes out. I think it's going to be a necessity for me to survive on this ship. My father sighed heavily, so heavily that I could hear him being even feet away from him.

"You know, Bruce, you ruin any opportunity I had to get that girl to talk…" Molly Brown's voice faded from my hearing as the doors behind me shut. I sighed, rubbing my forehead. Okay, that was bad. Now, Antoinette, don't hyperventilate, don't…The corset and barely any air, with added hyperventilation will surely make me faint. _"Only women who can't take corsets faint."_ That's actual true, one thing my mother said rings true! It's about time.

My father's probably doing some damage control as we speak. As long as he doesn't use the line that I'm a woman, who knows what's going on with her, which I know he would never say—I don't care what he says.

I made my way towards the side of the ship, in shock that I even got up and walked out. My mother would definitely have killed me with a butter knife, I would be dead if she was here. I killed my father's image, I think. If he doesn't build another ship in his life, I'm blaming myself. That's when the doors behind me swung open. I turned around, not even looking up from the deck.

"Daddy, I'm sorry," I began, "…I'm truly sorry and I'll go apologize and—"

"Miss Andrews, who are you talking to?" I looked up. I obviously was not talking to my father! It's Lowe, who threw off the hat from his head.

"Oh, hello Officer Lowe." I sighed a mental breath of relief. It _isn't_ my father.

"Harry's fine," he said, with a slight bow, fiddling with the hat in his hand. "That is my name, you know."

"Alright. Antoinette to you, too. No more Miss Andrews." I gestured to the lunching hall over his shoulder. "Did I make that much of a scene in there?"

"Ismay deserved it." I stood there, in shock as Lowe burst into a smile. I'd love to hear his reasoning for this conclusion, but I'm not sure if I have that much time. "It was a great exit, also," he continued. "I commend you for that." I giggled. Oh, giggling and finding a husband is not a good mix! Mother, Mother…

"I was wondering if…if…" his voice trailed off. Spit it out, sailor boy! "…If you'd like to be my guest at dinner tonight." He sighed heavy. "Okay, that was difficult!" he said more to himself than to me. "Anyway, would you like to? You don't have to say yes, my invitation was not all that great, awful even—" I shook my head.

"No, no, I'd love to." He stopped, his jaw dropping before he brought it back up again.

"Really?" I laughed, nodding.

"Sure."

"I'll come get you at seven, will that work? Give you enough time to get ready and all of that?"

"Seven is perfect. I'm in A32, just so you don't go knocking on the wrong door."

"Seven, then." He took my gloved hand, kissing it. "I'll see you, then." He began to back away from me, tripping over his own two feet. He blushed a beet red and placing his hat back on his head, he disappeared back into the lunching hall. Well, I now have an excuse for getting all dolled up for dinner. This should be interesting.


	6. Chapter Five

"Alright, now Miss Andrews, just hold onto the bedpost and I'm going to tie you in." Oh, Mary. The woman who feels the need to call me Miss Andrews—my father paying her aside, I suppose she thinks calling me by a proper name is a part of the job requirement.

"Mary, please, not too tight," I begged as I gripped the shiny oak bedpost.

"Don't you want to look nice for that nice gentleman?" I could care less.

"I just want to be able to breathe." She's going to kill me with this corset. As she began to tighten up the laces from the bottom of my back to the top, she kept on squeezing the laces together to make them even tighter than before. I gasped every time she did that.

"Now, take in a deep breath!" she said out of nowhere as she tied the top lace. I can barely breathe—I should've expected it. I managed to get a gasp of air here and there and turned, leaning against the bedpost as Mary went towards the closet. "Is that okay, Miss Andrews?" I managed a slight nod. Corsets are supposed to give you a flawless silhouette, but turning purple and collapsing is not a good look. Oh, no, my mother's quote is coming back to me…Mary opened up the closet and shuffled through my collection of dresses. "Which one would you like?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at me.

"I don't know," I answered truthfully, shrugging a shoulder. "Which one do you think?" She bit her lower lip in thought as she rummaged through the dresses. She gestured to a beaded red and black number, one that I haven't worn in ages, the one with a train. Dress trains and I really need to learn how to cooperate in a civil manner.

"How about this?" she asked.

"That's perfect." She smiled, proud of herself, as she took it off the hanger and began to unhook the hooks in the back of the dress.

"I think it'll look just fantastic with that silver necklace you have and the matching earrings and…" As she continued talking, I didn't bother to listen. This woman really ought to become a seamstress. She gestured for me to step into the dress and I did, putting my arms into the proper holes as Mary gathered up the dress from behind and began to hook it back together again. Getting dressed is like putting a life-size puzzle together. It's like a torture sentence. Between the corset and the dress, I'd rather be in third class.

"Done?" I asked after what felt like an eternity. She nodded, turning me around.

"Sure am. This dress is so beautiful." She gestured to my hair. "Good thing we did your hair beforehand, huh?" I managed a smile as Mary fixed the train trailing behind me. I went towards my bureau and searching through two drawers, I found my white gloves. I slid my hands through them, fixing them on my arm to make sure they're perfect.

"What jewelry did you think…?" my voice trailed off as I began to dig through my jewelry box. I wish I knew how to listen.

"The silver necklace." I pulled out one of many silver necklaces and held it up for her to see.

"This one?"

"No, no, this one had diamonds on the pendent."

"Isn't that a little flashy, Mary?" I suddenly asked. She giggled.

"Well, you need to look your best. That gentleman—"

"Oh, Mary, please don't." She stopped.

"I don't think it's flashy," she decided a few seconds after closing her mouth. "You need to look your best—you're the Master Shipbuilder's daughter, after all." She paused. "You represent the ship, indirectly." Great, my mother got to Mary! That sounds like something she would absolutely say.

"Alright, alright," I said, placing the necklace back and finding another with the diamonds on the ornament. "This?" She nodded as I handed it to her. I can't even lift my arms above my head—I am officially helpless without her. She snapped it onto my neck as I searched for those earrings. Did she say they were green? Why do I remember her saying something about green earrings?

"The matching earrings, Miss Andrews," she said after I sighed from frustration, unable to find these supposed green earrings.

"Oh!" I managed a laugh, the diamond earrings right in front of me. I clipped the left on and as I opened the clasp for the right, someone was knocking at my door.

"He's early," Mary whispered into my ear. He sure is—twenty minutes early!

"My father wouldn't have let him in this far," I concluded. "Would you please get the door?" I asked of her, attempting to put the second earring on. She nodded, checking the dress to make sure she had hooked everything properly before going to the door.

"Ann, it's me," rang my father's voice through the door. "Can I come in?"

"Sure!" Mary opened the door and my father walked in, all dolled up in his usual tuxedo, ready for dinner. He adjusted his suit jacket as he made his way towards me.

"Mr. Andrews, please—" Mary gestured to the train on the floor. Thank goodness for mirrors, I can see everything. He stepped to the right of the train as I turned to face him, still trying to get the earring into place.

"Oh, Antoinette," my father said. "You look beautiful."

"It was Mary's choice for the dress," I said, gesturing to her. "She has good taste." I sighed angrily, this earring not cooperating.

"Miss Andrews, you're going to break it!" Mary said, as she brushed past my father, taking the earring out of my hand before I could cause it any due harm. She placed it onto my ear with perfection, along with its' proper backing. "There." I turned to the mirror, straightened them slightly, then turned back to my father. "Will you be needing anything else, Miss Andrews?" I shook my head.

"I'll ring for you after dinner," I said, with a slight smile. She disappeared out of my bedroom and out of sight.

"You look wonderful," my father said simply as he fiddled with his tie. "I am so glad you decided to come to dinner, after all." Did I mention I haven't told him about my little invitation from Harold Lowe earlier today? Well, I haven't. I suppose being late is better than never telling him at all.

"Actually, Daddy, I've got a date." That's the only reason I'm coming to this frill-feast known as a first-class dinner. He smiled at me, that half-smile he always does.

"Oh, really? Who?" He paused. "Did Will ask you?" Will…? Oh, he means Will Murdoch! I shook my head.

"No, no, Harold did." He smiled even wider this time.

"Lowe?" he asked skeptically. I nodded.

"Why? Is that a bad thing?"

"No, honey, I think it's great." Well, it's an excuse to go to dinner, one way or the other. "Really, I do." I suppose I gave him a skeptical glance when he first said he thought the whole idea was _great_. "Now, I suppose I know where you were this morning—" He thinks I was with Harold!?

"Daddy, I was _not_ with him. I was roaming the deck."

"Sure, Ann, sure."

"Well, I was!" He laughed, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"I know you were, darling. I was just kidding." That's when there was a knock on the door. My father pulled out his pocket watch before glancing up at me.

"He's early," he murmured under his breath.

"How early?" I asked, taking the watch from his hand. He's almost thirty minutes early! I'm barely ready as it is.

"I hope it's not someone for me," my father sighed as I handed him back the pocket watch.

"I'll get it," I decided, picking up my dress's train in one hand and going towards the suite's door. Swinging the door open, was a turned officer, his back to me. Oh, it must be Harry. "Hello?" I asked him, unsure of what else to say. Turning abruptly around, there stands Will, holding his hat in his hand before placing it under his arm. He stopped suddenly, eyeing me from the floor up. He looked like he gulped. Oh, come now, it's just a dress.

"Miss Andrews." He slightly bowed.

"Really, Antoinette is fine." I took a step outside the door.

"Of course. Then, I suppose it's Will to you, too." I've already been calling him Will in my own little world since I met him. Oops. I managed a nod as he cleared his throat. "I wanted to speak with you this morning, but you so abruptly left that I never got the chance. And you try finding someone aboard this large ship without any idea of where you're going and…I'm sorry. I'm getting off-topic here…What I wanted to ask you..."

"Which was what?" I asked.

"I know we're all going to be together, anyway, but I was wondering if you'd like to go to dinner with me. I know it's short notice." He sounded so hopeful, I don't want to crush his spirits. "Maybe?" My face must've dropped because he already looks disappointed.

"Will, I—" I bit my lower lip as he nodded.

"That's what I figured." He looks heartbroken.

"No, no, Harold already asked and I…accepted."

"Oh." He hesitated. "Well, then, I'll see you at dinner."

"I—I'm sorry, Will, I—" He shrugged a shoulder, managing a laugh.

"Don't worry about it," he said, as if this whole incident never actually happened. "You look beautiful, by the way. Very beautiful." With that, he turned and walked out of sight after a moment or so. Oh. I leaned against the doorway, placing a hand over my corseted middle. I feel absolutely awful. I took in a sharp breath, the best I could with this dumb corset, looking down the hall Will had walked down. He was completely gone.

"Ann, who was at the door?" my father's voice came from behind me. I can't move. Oh, why do I feel so awful? The look on Will's face alone could've made me cry for him. I suppose there's always going to be tomorrow's dinner, lunch and breakfast, but rejection is the worst thing for anyone—especially one looking for a woman to carry on the arm. My father made his way to my side, keeping his eyes on me. "Antoinette, who was at the door?" I can't look at him. I kept my eyes focused on the hallway. "Ann." I finally realized I had no choice but to look at him, so I turned to face him, keeping myself against the doorway.

"Wrong room," I said softly.

"What?"

"Someone thought this was A12, instead of 32. Wrong room." He raised an eyebrow at me.

"Really?" he asked, unsure of me. "Well, you ought to go finish getting ready. Harold could be here any minute, you know." Harold, right. "It's almost seven." I nodded as I brushed past him, back into the suite. He is right, but now looking William Murdoch in the eye will be incredibly difficult. Avoiding eye contact is something I am thankfully good at. _"Looking one in the eye is very important for a woman in society."_ Oh, Mother, shut up!


	7. Chapter Six

"Well, Antoinette!" Molly Brown's voice echoed across the dining hall just as she brushed past me towards her chair. "Looks like you've got yourself a date," she laughed when she saw Harry sitting to my right. She then gestured to him. "You treat her well, sonny, her father knows _people_." She chuckled as she went to find her seat and Harry shot me a look of fright after glancing at my father, whose too busy writing in that small notebook of his to even notice. I'm sure he noticed—He never misses a trick.

"She's kidding," I told him. I watched, without making eye contact, the others take their places at the table, including the woman-less William Murdoch, who still looks like a defeated ten year old. I still feel awful for him, I have to admit. I do care about him—He seems nice enough, but I couldn't have just told Harry I changed my mind. He would've saw me with Will. Damn it. I rubbed my forehead. I'm confusing myself.

When Ismay came to sit down at the table, he, as usual, gave me the once-over, but then had a look of shock on his face when he realized Harry was kind of, sort of like…my date. My escort is more like it, but I don't have an "escort." He asked me to be his arm candy for dinner, he seemed sweet enough—end of story.

As the caviar began being served, Harry touched my wrist to get my attention. I practically jumped, not expecting it. I took in a deep breath. Antoinette Andrews, calm yourself. My mother would not be approving of this. "Are you as bored as I am?" he whispered into my ear as I placed my napkin onto my lap. I managed a nod, as the chatter at the table got louder and louder as each second passed. Ismay really _can_ talk! Someone ought to sew his mouth shut and hide the scissors from him.

"I'm ready to spoon my eyes out," I responded. He laughed.

"Alright, well, maybe we should play this game."

"A game?" I smiled at him. "What kind of game?"

"Well, I always play this with Will and Lightoller, which drives both of them crazy. You pick an object in the room and tell the other person what letter the object begins with. If you guess it right, it's your turn to pick something." He paused. "Make sense?"

"I suppose. How about an example?" He gestured to the linen-clothed table we're sitting at.

"I'd say the object started with a T, and I picked the table. See, T, table…?"

"You're awful at explaining things," I decided. He nervously laughed, moving his hat over on the other side of his plate, as if this was a barrier keeping us apart. "How about you go first?" I suggested.

"Alright." He paused, looking around the large dining hall. "C." C? I began to search the room and—

"Chair?" I asked.

"No, try again."

"Uh…" I bit down on my lower lip in thought as I rested my head in my palm. "Candle?"

"Do you see any candles here?" he asked, with a laugh.

"No, I guess not." I looked about and my eyes fell on the chandelier. Chandelier.

"Chandelier."

"That's it. Alright, now your turn." I began to search the room, unsure of what to choose. Earring! Earring would work. Granted, he may not guess it, but who knows at this point.

"E."

"E…Hmm…" He looked around for what felt like minutes and then finally shrugged. "Okay, I have absolutely no idea." I touched my earrings.

"Earrings."

"Now, why didn't I think of that?" he asked, laughing slightly. I smiled. "I guess it's your turn again." Hmm—now what will I pick? I glanced around the table and saw a waiter rolling the cigars and matches into the smoking room for after dinner.

"It starts with an M."

"Mantle?" I shook my head. "Mirror?" There aren't even any mirrors in here, my friend. "No?" I shook my head. "Alright, this should not be this difficult…" He stifled a laugh. "Money?"

"Although I'm sure there's plenty of it in here, no." He smiled.

"Alright—You know, I should be beating you at this game—"

"But, you're not."

"I know. Practice does not make perfect." I raised an eyebrow.

"Apparently." That was off-topic. "Remember, the letter M. Focus." He searched around the table. Harry then gestured to a piece of, what is that, lamb, being served to someone in a table away from us?

"Meat?"

"Oh, you are grasping for straws, my friend."

"Mask?" I'm sure many of the guests tonight are wearing masks, but I can't say that out loud. I didn't respond. "I'll take that as a no."

"Mouse?" I giggled under my breath.

"Something you see in _this_ room!"

"Antoinette, I have no idea."

"Matches." I gestured to the cart where a waiter was trying to fix a pile of cigars that must have fallen over.

"This game is over," he decided as our empty caviar dishes, which we had been conveniently trying not to choke on, were taken away.

"It's only been what, five minutes? You're already giving up?"

"You could say that."

"Miss Andrews, what would you like?" a strange voice asked me. How did this voice know my name? I looked up and it's the waiter who had been serving that awful caviar. Everyone knows who I am, I suppose, even though I've never seen this particular waiter before. Why not just pass a photograph of me around for all to see?

Oh, what did he ask? What would I like? What would I like for what? Oh, food! Food. Had everyone been ordering and we've just been talking? I quickly glanced around the table and sure enough, here I am—the center of attention again. Fantastic.

"What would you suggest?" I asked, smiling at him.

"Well, the lamb seems to be a favorite—"

"Then, that's fine. I trust your judgement." He smiled widely at me, almost proud of himself for offering something and me actually telling him I trust his judgement. I think I just made a waiter's day. I could never imagine being a waiter, by the way. You must suggest food after food to so many different people, and maybe if you're extremely lucky, someone will agree with your suggestion. What a frustrating position that must be!

"How about you, Sir?" he asked Harold as I handed him my, as usual, unread menu.

"What she's having."

"Of course." He walked past us and I glanced at him, trying not to laugh. He was acting all serious, for one mere moment—and it was, for some reason, hysterical in my mind.

"Here, I've got a question for you," I said within only his earshot.

"What?"

"What starts with an M, and it's at this table, and this table only?" He looked at me, sort of puzzled as he looked among the chattering people.

"Molly Brown?" he asked.

"What?" We both looked up from the covered table, since we were acting as if we were barely speaking, to Molly. "You say my name, sonny?"

"No, ma'am," he blatantly lied.

"Well, then, I must be hearing things!" she said, laughing. I took a large sip of my champagne. It could be a long night.

"Would you like some more, Miss Andrews?" a young waiter asked me, holding the champagne bottle. I almost started laughing. These people have perfect timing! Whoever trained them ought to get a freaking medal.

"No, thank you," I said, trying not to choke on the liquid. Harry glanced at me, bursting into a smile.

"Alright, I need you to tell me what starts with an M," he concluded. "Before I lose my job with the White Star Line." I glanced over at the Captain, who does not look to be too pleased. I managed a smile.

"Ismay's moustache." We both looked to our right at Ismay, who always has this ridiculous handlebar moustache waxed up to the tenth degree and we bursted out laughing!

Everyone in the entire dining hall turned their attention on us and Ismay looked over his shoulder, wondering why we were laughing. Harry was laughing so hard that he slammed his elbow onto the table, exactly where his spoon was to his right. The spoon, for some strange reason, went flying across the room, almost decapitating a woman before hitting the wall, beside a window leading to the freezing outdoors.

"Oh my God—" I was laughing so hard I was crying. I took my napkin from my lap and wiped my eyes, trying not to smear my make-up. Harry was laughing so hard, he was practically sobbing. My father, his nose out of his notebook for a change, started laughing and Molly Brown, having seen the entire escapade for what it was, began to giggle. The whole table erupted with laughter, from the other officers, Captain Smith and even woman-less Will began to laugh.

"What's so funny?" asked the clueless Ismay, refusing to unlock his eyes from me. Minutes passed and as the laughter died down and I wiped my eyes again from my salty tears.

I shot a look at Harold, holding in my fit of giggles. My mother never would've approved of that laughter fit, I know it. She would've dragged me out of the dining hall, and resisted the urge to slap me. _"Antoinette Andrews!" _she would've felt the need to say, before repeating herself, this time merely including my middle name. _"You are shaming your father!"_ I always just shame her—my father doesn't really care. Speak of the devil, he leaned into my ear, still trying not to laugh as he closed that notebook.

"Antoinette, it's so nice to see you smile. You haven't smiled like that in months." I realized, at that moment, how right he was.


	8. Chapter Seven

I'm surprised I managed to get myself dressed this morning. As strange as that sounds, I had the strangest dream last night—one that actually woke me up in the middle of the night. It was so vivid, it was almost as if I was living through it. It felt that real. I must've had Harold Lowe on the brain, because the dream in question was about him. Strange, I know. It doesn't make any sense! I barely know him—and yet, I'm dreaming about him?

It was about last night, I remember that much, at dinner. Ismay was drinking, which is not all that unusual, Harry and Will were dancing to some fast-paced music played by the ship's band, and I was trying to not vomit from the food, which was filled with bugs and other disgusting things I can barely remember. Strange.

My father had the need to guilt-trip me this morning, during breakfast, that we had been on this ship for a few days, too long according to him, and that I had yet to receive my well-deserved tour.

"You know, we'll be off the ship and you still haven't gotten your proper tour," he had said as one of the stewards left from serving us breakfast this morning. He smiled at me. "I'd still like to show you around, Antoinette. You're my daughter, I want to show you what will someday be yours." I remember just staring at him. Never in a million years, did I expect such a reason as to why I must be shown around the ship.

"We'll go after we eat," I said simply. "You can show me Titanic and everything else in between afterwards. Is that okay?" He nodded.

"Better late than never, I suppose," he had murmured.

"You're right, better late than never." I shook my head of the memory. I can't believe I'm just standing here now, in front of two of Titanic's two steering wheels as my father was explaining something. The Captain was standing beside him, along with Ismay, and to me, they merely seemed to be discussing Titanic's mechanics amongst themselves and not to me. I know that's not the case, but that's how it feels. Well, at least Ismay's not staring at me. No, he is.

I can't stay focused. I need to, because it is my father's ship and he's so proud of it, but how can I stay focused? I could really care less about steering wheels. As I glanced around the window-filled room, looking out into the open sea, I can't believe I actually agreed to this. I am bored out of my mind.

"Why are there two?" I asked him suddenly, gesturing to the steering wheels.

"We only use one near shore," my father responded, with a smile.

"Another ice warning, sir," said a familiar voice. I looked up from the hardwood floor and standing there, with a sheet of paper in his hand, was Harold Lowe, the man _literally_ of my dreams. "This one's from the Nordan." The Captain took the sheet of paper from him and Harold stood there, managing a nod at me. I nodded back at him.

"Thank you, Harry," the Captain said, stuffing the piece of paper in his pocket. "Oh, not to worry," he told me. "Quite normal for this time of year."

"It's just a precaution," Ismay had the need to say. My father grimaced at that comment, looking as if he was getting ready to roll his eyes.

"Harry, thank you," the Captain repeated when he realized Harry wasn't gone yet. "You can leave now."

"Oh, yes, of course." He smiled at me before hesitantly walking away.

"Mr. Ismay, these officers you chose need to be properly trained." Ismay looked away from me to the Captain, raising an eyebrow.

"Captain, they _were_ trained." The Captain sighed, rubbing his forehead before gesturing to me.

"Well, Miss Andrews, what do you think so far?" Change the subject. Good call, my friend.

"Incredible." That's all I can really say—considering I haven't been listening. "But, what are those for?" I gestured to the phone-like device hanging on the wall behind one of the ship's steering wheels, along with a map overview of Titanic, with buttons that look as if they could be lit.

"Well, we use that to talk to the people up in the look-out," the Captain explained, walking towards the phone device.

"The buttons…?"

"They close water-tight doors," my father began. "They're in the boiler room and once they're activated, obviously, they keep water from invading the rest of Titanic." Ismay began laughing.

"Thomas, another sure sign of waste aboard this ship!" His glare turned to me as my father sighed heavily. "Miss Andrews, this ship—as I've said before, is unsinkable. Watertight doors is just something that your father—" I don't even want to hear any of it.

"I'm sure my father knows what he was doing when he built her." I shot a look at my father and the Captain, who both look somewhat relived.

"Either way," Ismay concluded, clearing his throat, "just like those lifeboats, it's a waste. We could've added another swimming pool for the price of those doors."

"We only needed one swimming pool," my father said between clenched teeth. "Besides, Titanic can only stay afloat with four compartments filled with water. Another swimming pool would've made five." Ismay gave my father the dirtiest look I had ever seen anyone give another human being.

"Daddy, why don't we go on the boat deck, hmm?" I asked, taking his arm, unsure of what else to do before someone got killed. He hesitated before nodding at me.

"Of course, honey. We'll go to the—the—"

"The engine room…?" I suggested.

"Sure." He nodded to the Captain. "Well, we'll leave you in peace, Captain. Thank you for taking the time to speak with us."

"Come now, Thomas, you know, anything you need…" His voice trailed off as my father smiled. We began our way towards the exit, Ismay at our heels, and as we turned right, an officer carrying a tea cup practically fell into me. A lot of collisions these days it seems, doesn't it? Tea went flying and a few drops managed to hit me, but I quickly brushed them off as the officer turned blush red under his hat. I can't make out his face, though.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Miss—" He looked up from the porcelain cup to me. "Antoinette." Will. I should've expected it. Woman-less Will, yet another man, literally, of my dreams.

"Dear boy, keep your eyes on where you're going!" Ismay had the need to say, sounding aggravated as he brushed past us and out of sight. "I'm off!" Thank God. Will blushed a beet red again and I shook my head.

"Don't worry about it," I said, trying not to make a big deal out of the situation no one meant to cause. Ismay, I think, just likes to cause scenes, especially on a ship he can say he practically envisioned. Men. Egos. Such a mix is never a good combination. He managed a slight laugh, Will, as he placed down his tea cup on a nearby ledge and took off his hat, bowing slightly to me before placing it back on his head.

"And hello to you, Mr. Andrews," Will said graciously.

"Hello, Will."

"And where are you off to this fine morning?" he asked my father.

"Just a tour around the boat deck. Would you like to join us?" The Captain appeared in the doorway at that moment and Will glanced at him.

"If I get the permission to do so, I'd love to." The Captain nodded.

"Go on ahead. I won't be needing you for a couple of hours. Enjoy the ship while you can."

"Yes, sir." He glanced at me. "I suppose I'm free for the day. I don't want to intrude, though—"

"No, you're not." He gave me a skeptical look. "Really." Managing a smile, he offered me his arm, which I graciously took. What else was I supposed to do? Say, "Oh, no thanks"? I can't just do that—I already broke this man's spirits once during the voyage.

"Now, where were we off to?" my father asked me.

"The engine room."

"Oh, yes. Right, right this way." He brushed past us and we began to follow him down the deck, trying not to hit into other first-class passengers. Goodness, my father can walk briskly when he wants to!

"Do we actually plan on keeping up with him?" Will asked me when my father seemed almost too far ahead of us to catch up to.

"I think we're supposed to," I responded. I went to take another step to catch up, when I was stopped towards the ground. Looking down, I realized my dress was caught in one of the large white hooks, well, just holders, are they—that held the lifeboats on deck in place. Will stopped when he had walked a few steps and noticed I was nowhere to be found. "Will, I think I'm stuck." I kneeled down, attempting to untangle my skirt from the large white circle impeding my journey.

"You're _stuck_?" he asked me, confused, kneeling down beside me.

"The skirt got stuck!" I laughed.

"Oh, Ann! I wanted to—" My father stopped suddenly, turning towards us. I watched out of the corner of my eye as he ran towards us, now knowing we were nowhere behind him. "Are you alright?" he asked me, concerned. I looked up momentarily, nodding.

"My skirt got stuck in this." I gestured to whatever was holding the lifeboat down.

"Antoinette, let me try," Will said as I refused to let my hands stop my pathetic attempt to untangle myself. I sighed, shrugging my shoulders as Will took over.

"Well, you at least get to see them up close," my father laughed. I smiled at the joke as he knocked his hand against the lifeboat. "They're sturdy, anyway."

"If you don't get caught up in them first." I sighed as Will continued to unhook me.

"Must you wear such elaborate garments?" he asked me.

"It was my mother's idea," I said, putting the blame back on her. "She packed." He unhooked one last bead and I was free.

"There!" He smiled triumphantly. "I just saved the Master Shipbuilder's daughter! Do I get a medal?" I laughed as we both stood up to our full height again.

"What would you like?" I asked, still laughing. My father had this enormous smile on his face.

"How about dinner?" Will asked me in a suddenly serious tone.

"Dinner?" Harry. I had such a nice time with Harold Lowe, I—

"Consider it a rain check," he offered. A rain check from last night, I suppose…Oh, what am I to do? He did unhook me from the evil lifeboats—they are evil in the mind of Bruce Ismay, so I suppose I owe him this favor. I don't want him to get the wrong idea. Wait, what am I even saying? I have no idea what I'm talking about!

"_Antoinette Andrews, are you going to contemplate it all night or take the nice gentleman up on his offer?"_ my mother's voice rang through my ears, but none of it made sense. I don't know why, but I robotically nodded.

"I'd love to," I choked out. Will's demeanor changed completely, as if I had made his year.

"Great!"

"Let's continue on to the engine room, then," my father decided, beginning to make his way down to the deck. I took Will's offered arm and here I am, with one of the men of my dreams. I have no idea what I'm doing. I should've just stayed in my suite where I belonged. I go out into the world and for some reason, I break someone's heart. I should've stayed in England where I belonged.


	9. Chapter Eight

"Ann, you haven't touched your food," my father whispered into my ear. Even though I heard him, I didn't _hear_ him. Sure, it makes no sense, this whole voyage is beginning to not make any sense. I wish something would make sense for a change! As I glanced around the dinner table around us, Harry's not here. He must be on duty or something—but Will couldn't wipe the grin off of his face. Ismay won't shut up, either. I tried not to roll my eyes, but I did at the table instead of Ismay. He needs a good slap. "Ann?" I have to answer to my father, too. He's not going to give up so easily, as easily as he usually does.

"I suppose I'm not that hungry," I replied into his ear. I kept my eyes on the empty chair across from me, where Harry, I think, might've sat had he been here. As the conversation died down and the plates began to be taken away, I knew all of the men were going to go into that dumb smoking room and smoke their brains out. My father, though, would retreat back to the suite and stare at the plans of Titanic until he got so tired, he couldn't stay awake any longer.

Do I sound jealous of Titanic? Dear God, I hope not! I think I may be, though…I think I, Antoinette Andrews, may be jealous of a hunk of iron. What is this world coming to—first I dream about Harold Lowe and William Murdoch and now I'm jealous of a ship? What would my mother say? Who cares what my mother would say! Who cares! Besides, my father loves me, that's what matters But, he also loves his ship and I can completely respect that. I do believe, however, that this ship gets treated better than the people on it, but that's my opinion.

Even on that tour of Titanic today, I wanted to throw myself overboard. It's a ship, it's my father's ship—he built her, he created her, but the last thing I wanted to do was walk around a ship full of people on a Friday afternoon. I did get to see everything that made this liner the Ship of Dreams: her engines, the boiler room and everything else in between, but I couldn't bring myself to care. I am so proud of my father, does he know that? I don't know at this point.

"Are you finished, Miss Andrews?" a waiter asked me. I stifled a nod. I can't eat. Mary, Mary, she tied me into this corset too tight and I can barely breathe, let alone eat. There's always tomorrow. And besides, I don't have much of an appetite.

"Care for a brandy, gentlemen?" Ismay's voice rang through the crowded dining hall. Most of the men at the table began to chatter, almost as bad as when women gossip, and stood up, beginning to make their way into the smoking room.

"Antoinette, do you want me to bring you back to your room?" Will's cheerful voice pulled me from my mind and back into reality—the cold reality of the fact that I'm sitting at a table where women are considered objects, and there are barely ever any women who ever want to make intelligent conversation. Molly Brown aside, of course, she can always be counted on to make someone laugh.

"No, I'll stay here," I responded as he stood.

"Well, I must be getting back…" his voice trailed off as he took my gloved hand, laying a gentle kiss on it. "My shift tonight."

"Have fun," I said, managing a smile. He furrowed his brow, confused, before nodding.

"I will." He hesitated. "Will I see you tomorrow?" I hope not. I can't keep playing this game with these officers any longer. I wish I was engaged to some old man, that way, I'd be unavailable. I'm not a seafaring woman, even as the Master Shipbuilder's daughter—I can barely stomach the sea.

"Maybe." He dropped my hand, smiling wide.

"Thank you for tonight, Antoinette. It was wonderful." I barely said a word, how could it be wonderful?

"You're welcome. I owed you—you saved me from the lifeboat." He laughed and placing his hat back on his head, he brushed past me and I watched out of the corner of my eye as he left the dining hall, through the doors I had first met him, and up the stairs. I sighed a breath of relief, rubbing my forehead. This has been one long night.

"Ann?" A hand on my bare shoulder made me jump. I turned around, keeping my hand on the voice's and realized it was my father.

"Yes, Daddy?" I asked, trying to sound pleasant.

"Even if you didn't want Will to take you back to your room, I'll take you. I'm going back." I shook my head.

"No, I'm just going to stay here." I paused. "And sit."

"When can I expect you?" I shrugged.

"Soon." He nodded, kissing me on the head, smoothing out my hair like he always seems to do when he's worried.

"Ann, I—" He kneeled down to my level, leaning against my chair and the one he had been sitting in to my right for support. "I have no idea what's wrong." He sounded so sad at that moment. "You were so happy yesterday and now, you're…"

"Daddy, there's nothing wrong." He doesn't look convinced. "Really."

"If there's anything I can do, you'll let me know, won't you?" I nodded.

"Yes." He smiled, almost out of relief and kissed me on the cheek.

"I love you, Antoinette."

"I love you, too, Daddy." He stood up and slowly, at first, left the dining hall and left me to an entirely empty table. It was empty of everything, except for the still-lit candles. A few women around me idled at nearby tables, but I knew they would be gone soon enough. I stood up and pushing my chair in, I made my way to a nearby exit. I can only take the stuffed shirts for so long, I am human!

I pushed open the door to the deck and it almost hit me, throwing me to the floor. The wind seemed to be wiping, and it was cold, cold to the bone, but I managed to shut the door behind me and began my way down the deck. I'm not sure where I'm going or what I'm going to do in the next five, ten or even fifteen seconds, but I know I'd rather be alone and cold than be around Ismay and all of his worshippers, even if they were away from me—in that dumb smoking room.

The deck is completely empty. I can hear a few voices and looking over my shoulder, I realize it's coming from the Captain's quarters and where the ship is steered, where the officers usually are and all of that—but as for passengers, everyone was either asleep or drinking to their heart's content. I leaned against the white railing of Titanic, refusing to let the bitter wind make me go indoors, where every other sane woman should be. I held onto the handrail with all of my might until my knuckles turned cold before grazing my fingers over them. Painted white, obviously, but they're metal underneath and love to hold onto the cold. Fantastic.

I can't wait to get off of this ship. I won't ever have to worry about William Murdoch or Harold Lowe again—or men ever after this voyage is over. It should be interesting to see how I make it through life without a husband, but there's a first time for everything. Oh, if only my mother had a grave. One thing still makes no sense to me. I was so giggly and happy around Harry last night and even that afternoon during lunch. Now, with Will, I feel the way I did when I boarded. Quiet, unsure of my emotions. Maybe I'm reading into this too much, but it just doesn't make much sense—

"Antoinette?" I jumped, probably as a result of the cold and fright and slowly but surely turned around. I hope it's not Will, he'll make sure I go inside. I sighed a half-breath of relief when I realized it was Harold Lowe. "Hello," he said with a slight laugh, tipping his hat to me with a simple bow.

"Hello," I responded, turning back to the sea.

"You do realize it's freezing out here, right?" he asked, walking towards me. I glanced at him momentarily, noticing now I can see his breath against the dark sky. It _is_ freezing. His nose is all red, too—along with his cheeks.

"It's pretty cold," I replied, with a nod.

"Especially without a coat." He smiled at me.

"I'm okay." I gestured to him. "You look colder than me."

"I've been out here all night."

"White Star Line just loves to torture their officers, don't they?" He laughed.

"I think it's all a conspiracy," he joked. He cleared his throat, fixing his suit jacket, re-buttoning it. "I heard you went to dinner with Will," he said casually, leaning against the ship's railing.

"It doesn't take long for word to travel around here, does it?" He smiled, shaking his head.

"No, not really. Small ship, you know."

"I know, I feel so cramped!" I cleared my throat. "I owed Will, if you're wondering."

"Oh." He sounds surprised. "Will's a good man."

"Yes, he is." I sighed. "Do you have the time?"

"Almost nine," he read from his watch. "Do you want to go inside?" he asked me suddenly. "My shift is practically over and I don't plan on staying out here all night."

"I'll see you, then," I managed to say. He laughed, gesturing to the door that leads into the dining hall.

"I don't plan on leaving you out here! We'll go inside—You have no coat."

"True." I really don't know if I want to go in, though.

"We'll get something warm to drink…" Oh, he's enticing me with the thoughts of warm beverages.

"And food?"

"Didn't you just eat?" I shook my head.

"Not really." I just pushed the food around my plate, but he doesn't really know that.

"I'm good friends with the chef, I'm sure he has something for you."

"Oh, really?" I asked, skeptically. "Good friends?" He smiled.

"Well, acquaintances." I knew it! "We have to go inside, though." I sighed, rubbing my eyes, turning to face him as I leaned against the railing.

"Do I have to?" He smiled—this sweet smile, the same smile I had seen yesterday at lunch.

"Yes. Come on." He took my wrist and began to drag me towards the door to the dining hall. Instead of struggling with him, I didn't. I'm freezing, anyway—but I know I can't admit that to him. I followed him inside and waited as he pulled the door in shut from the preceding wind.

I quickly glanced around the room and surprisingly, everyone's gone. The carpeted room is completely bare. The plates have all been cleared, the glasses and the silverware. The only thing that is keeping this room somewhat alive is the chandelier and the candles still lit at the table. Even the band's gone. They never leave until the absolute _end_. I made my way over to the still-open piano and sat down at the bench in front of it. Harry kept himself at my heels and as I sat down, I realized I had goosebumps on my arms from being out in the cold. I didn't feel cold, out, though. It felt sort of…wonderful. I was alone. Until this one decided to show up, anyway.

"Are you cold?" he asked me suddenly. I glanced up at him, shrugging.

"Not, really," I lied. He laughed, sitting down beside me.

"No need to lie, Antoinette." He stood up, unbuttoning his overcoat and before I knew it, it was wrapped around me.

"No, no, Harry, I'm not cold—"

"Until you warm up," he suggested.

"But—"

"No buts." He's not one to take a no for an answer, now is he? I sighed. It's frivolous to argue. I might as well be appreciative of the generosity. "I'll see what the chef has left over. You do drink tea, don't you?" I nodded. As much as I sometimes dislike tea, the fact that it's warm is a relief right now. "I'll be right back." He began to walk away, but suddenly turned back. "Don't run off on me." I glanced up from the carpet to him.

"Now, why would I do that?"

"It's happened before," he mumbled, more to himself than to me. What is he talking about? I watched closely as he disappeared out of the dining hall, leaving me, the piano and his overcoat, completely and utterly baffled.


	10. Chapter Nine

I turned towards the piano a few minutes after he left. I brushed the so many strands of stray hair out of my eyes and opened up the compartment to reveal the shining white keys as I pulled my arms through Harry's overcoat. The coat is so big, it keeps falling off my shoulders. I might as well use it for the time being, seeing that Harry is sick of it himself. A gift from the White Star Line, perhaps?

I glanced down at the keys. I used to be able to play piano. I think I used to be quite talented. Of course, the whole learning music idea was not my cup of tea (not meant to be taken literally), but much like tea, the piano had been shoved down my throat by my mother. First she says women are to sit and look beautiful for all to enjoy, as if we aren't allowed to do anything at all, and then she wants me to learn how to play the piano. Well, are we made of porcelain or do we breathe oxygen just like the rest of the human race?

_"Men love a woman who has musical interest and taste,"_ my mother would always say to me the day of my piano lessons. I barely ever listen to my mother, if that isn't obvious enough already. I could care less about learning the piano and she knew it. Of course, she would then proceed to guilt-trip me because of the money my father was spending on the lessons. _"Be grateful your father can afford such luxuries!"_ I have a feeling that if my father couldn't afford something that my mother wanted, which has yet to happen, she would marry me off to some rich man for a price. A hefty price. I'd like to think my father would buy me back, but you never know.

Much like my little life, I grew tired of the piano and gradually began to forget how to read music. My father knew I never liked the piano that much, so I think he was relieved when my mother one day just gave up. _"You will never find a suitable husband, Antoinette Andrews!"_ That was all she said. She said the same thing when I told her I would rather drop dead than have one more cup of tea. Anyhow, the piano…It was out of the house the morning after my mother's memorized speech. The day the piano left, my father glanced at me and said with a laugh, "You hated that piano, didn't you, Ann?" I really did and told him so. I only did so because my mother was gone.

I hit a few keys on the piano and the sounds vibrated the remaining crystal in the room. I forgot how much noise a piano could make! I went up and down the keys, trying to remember one song my piano teacher forced down my throat. It was a lovely ballad and she could always play it much better than I ever could, but it was so soothing to the ears. As my memory came back to me, I began to softly play, making many errors in the process—so many, in fact, I was laughing through the entire episode, even though the song was about someone losing a loved one.

"That's pretty good." The voice made me jump and whirling around, there stands Harry with two tea cups in his hand and something I can't quite make out on a plate.

"Why not just tap my shoulder? You scared me half to death!"

"I'm sorry." He sat down beside me, balancing the cups on top of the piano and holding out a genuine White Star Line plate, filled with steaming shortbread cookies to me. "He just made them for the morning. I told him the Master Shipbuilder's daughter was famished and he kindly gave us more than I think we needed." I laughed, taking a cookie, snapping off a piece and placing the warm baked cookie into my mouth.

"Oh, wow, these are great," I mumbled before swallowing. He nodded, making sure one cookie was good and gone before smiling.

"I never expected them to be this good—this late at night." He took one tea cup, handed it to me and placed the plate in the cup's place before taking his own cup. "Cheers?" he suggested. I smiled, clicking his cup to mine.

"Cheers." I took a sip of warm tea. The sweet aroma, which usually makes me want to vomit, immediately made my bones less chilled. As we continued to eat the cookies and sip tea, like civilized people, at a piano, no less, there was complete and utter silence. It was almost eerie.

"Thank you, Harry," I managed to say, finishing my tea and placing it down on the piano. He shrugged a shoulder. That was my dinner and the only food I will be having for some time.

"You're welcome." I began to take off the coat, to give it back to him. "You're still not warm!" he laughed, re-buttoning it.

"Yes, I am warm!"

"Your nose is still red."

"Well—" I gestured to his nose. "So is yours." He laughed.

"Well, I'm not the one who went out without a coat." Pausing, he then pointed to the piano. "Have you played the piano long?"

"I took lessons for almost a year, years ago." I managed a smile. "I hated it."

"…Don't like music?"

"No, no. I'd rather just hear it, rather than play it. I'm ashamed to say I've ever played the piano, hearing the band during dinner. They're incredible." They manage to dull out the chattering, so the music is truly _music_ to my ears.

"Aren't they? The best the Star Line could find, I think." He paused. "They must be so overqualified…" I started laughing immediately and so did Harry. That's when we heard footsteps. Loud, thrashing footsteps.

"IS ANYONE IN HERE!?" came a familiar, polished voice. Ismay! Oh, dear God, why did it have to be Ismay? "YOU SHOULDN'T BE IN HERE PAST HOURS!" Harry grabbed my hand and quickly placing down his own tea cup, he stood and began to run for an exit. His overcoat, still wrapped around me, managed to fit the tea cups on the piano and fell to the floor, shattering into a million pieces—and staining the piano keys in the process.

"Antoinette, don't worry about it," Harry hissed at me as I hesitated. Ismay can afford ten pianos, with all of his supposed wealth, so I suppose he can just buy a new piano. I caught up with Harry, even though his one step means five of my own, we ran out of the dining hall and up the stairs.

"YOU, YOU THERE, STOP!" Ismay began to yell, following us up the stairs. Harry began to run faster, trying not to laugh. I was laughing hysterically, tears coming to my eyes from the stupidity of it all. What could Ismay do to us? What could he do that is so horrible, that we have to run from him? Besides the fact that Ismay feels the need to somewhat gawk at me—Alright, that's a good enough reason to run!

I quickened my pace as we made it up the Grand Staircase and out of the unusually-empty doors, towards the first-class hall. "Harry, where are we going?" I asked, breathlessly as we continued our running, but he didn't respond. I don't think he can. I glanced back quickly over my shoulder and Ismay just made it through the doors leading to the Grand Staircase, but we were still within eye and ear shot.

"GET BACK HERE, YOU SCOUNDRELS!" he yelled angrily, not giving up until he found us. "YOU BROKE WHITE STAR LINE PROPERTY! YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE TO PAY FOR IT!" I giggled at that—was that supposed to be a threat? Harry just shook his head at me.

"Ann, shush!" he instructed, trying not to laugh himself taking a sharp right down a first-class corridor. We both leaned against the white-wooded walls, attempting to catch our breath. I can barely breathe with this corset, but I silently tried to catch my breath.

Harry leaned over me to glance down the hallway, where we had ran from the staircase, but after moments of serious worry, he pulled back from the corner, shaking his head at me.

"I think we lost him," he said, still breathless.

"Are you sure?" I managed to say through my hollow breaths. "Did we lose him or his moustache?" Harry busted out laughing, his mind probably repeating dinner from last night, and nodded.

"Both!" I glanced around the corner and nothing. Just the white lamps, hanging from the walls, above the first-class doors—no sign of Ismay.

"We lost him," I concluded. I laughed slightly, pushing hair out of my eyes. "We broke White Star Line China!"

"I suppose it'll come out of our paychecks," Harry joked. "Those cookies were fantastic, though—It was well worth it." He smiled at me, this absolutely, sincere smile. I have seen so many fake smiles during this voyage, with the exception of my father, Will and Harry—but I know a fake smile from a real smile. I always seem to be smiling fake—I have been. I laughed, leaning into him for support. "Are you alright?" I managed a nod, finally catching my breath.

"Corsets. Whoever thought they were good ideas ought to be shot between the eyes." He laughed.

"We did good, though. We managed to get away."

"You know this ship better than I do. You put me to shame back there!"

"You don't know the ship?" he asked me, surprised.

"My pride is completely shattered, but no, I don't know the ship. Only my father knows Titanic as well as you!" I sighed. "I should be going, though…my father's going to be completely worried and…" I began to unbutton the overcoat, but Harry shook his head, taking my hands. "What?" He brought me closer to him and before I knew it, we were kissing.

As we both seemed to let go of the kiss, I was floored. I never expected that! I managed to catch myself from saying something I'd regret later and gulped. It looked as if he had done the same.

"That was awfully direct of me," he said. "I should've asked—"

"I like direct." He smiled at me, awed by that answer, but managed a nervous laugh, dropping my hands. There's never a better opportunity than the present.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow," he managed to stammer. I nodded.

"Yes, of course, tomorrow." I hesitated. "Good-night, Harry." I'm glad I was able to say that much without sounding like a complete fool!

"Good-night, Antoinette."


	11. Chapter Ten

I walked down the first-class corridor in a complete daze. Did I dream that or did what just happen—actually happen? I slapped my palm to my forehead…Yes, it did happen! My mother, if she had a grave, she would be rolling in it—if she only knew. Harold Lowe had managed to drag me up through the dining hall and into the first-class, without being caught by Bruce Ismay over broken china and we…_kissed_. I don't know anything about this man, but I already want to kiss him again! I think I just threw being a lady out the window.

I need to focus. What room do I belong in, again? A…A…A32. Oh, that's it! I glanced to the door to my left. A35. I went too far. I turned, and checking each door, I finally found where I'm supposed to be. I turned the doorknob, expecting it to be locked, but was pleasantly surprised. It opened with ease. My father must still be up.

I opened the door as quietly as I could, without barely making a sound—not from the door and I tiptoed on my shoes so they wouldn't click. As I walked in, I realized how dark it was. My father must be asleep. It's either that or he's in his study. Let's hope he's asleep. I shut the door silently, leaning against it.

Sighing, I began to laugh. I can't believe tonight! It's all too unbelievable to even be true—I suppose it'll just stay between us, and as awkward as it should seem, it doesn't feel awkward. Not to me. To Harry, it may be extremely awkward, but I personally think it was endearing. I brushed my hair out of my eyes as I continued to giggle.

No more tea at night for me! That's decided—he must've put something in it, such as liquor, because I feel so loopy, so lopsided. I have no idea of what I'm doing, laughing in a dark sitting room. Well, it was dark—until the lights flickered on.

"Antoinette." My father. He looks just as awake as he had been at dinner. I couldn't control my laughter!

"Hi, Daddy," I said, trying to control my case of the giggles. He smiled at me.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing." I took a step away from the door I was using as my wall and took off my gloves, throwing them onto the mantle.

"You seem to be in a very bubbly mood," he noted aloud curiously. He must think something had to have happened—and he is right, but I can't actually tell him that.

"The cold can do wonders," I responded casually. "Well…" I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "I'm off to bed." I began for my bedroom when my father took my wrist.

"Don't you want me to call for Mary?" I giggled.

"Mary—what for?"

"To help you out of that dress." He smiled, stifling a chuckle. "Did you want to sleep in that all night? You'll have bead imprints all over you!"

"Oh, Mary, right…" He raised an eyebrow at me. "Mary, you—you, uh, you should call her." He nodded, looking somewhat confused.

"Alright." I began to fiddle with my hair, but I can barely reach my arms over my head because of the corset. I went to the mantle and using the mirror as my guide, I attempted in vain to take out the various bobby pins that were holding my remaining hair in place. Most of it had fallen out of its' do, even with the bobby pins, from the Ismay chase. Oh, excuse me: the Ismay and Ismay's moustache chase. I laughed at that.

"Ann…" Ismay! I hope he never finds out it was Harry and I who broke the White Star Line property. He already gawks at me enough, Ismay—and he is creepy, with a really creepy grin. Just the thought! "Antoinette?" I turned around, hearing my father's voice. Is he talking? I'm not even listening. Then again, that's not all that surprising. "You're humming."

"What?" I am not humming.

"You're humming," he repeated. I rolled my eyes at his reflection in the mirror above the mantle.

"I am not." I almost began to hum again, but I stopped myself. I am humming! I'm acting like a complete moron. What am I doing?

"You were," my father corrected.

"Sure I was," I replied with a short laugh. I must've been humming, after all. I don't recall humming—but my father wouldn't lie to me about something as silly as that.

"You haven't hummed that tune in months." I glanced over my shoulder at him before returning back to my reflection.

"What tune?"

"I can't remember the name of it. You always hum it when you're happy. I'm not sure why…" Oh, that tune! Yes, that tune, the same song my mother said was completely inappropriate for me to be humming to. _"Women who hum are not ladies, Antoinette_," my mother would say as she took her short sips of tea. _"You shouldn't be humming at home or anywhere else."_ I suppose it's just a habit I have re-inherited. But, I suppose I can blame my mother for me actually learning the song to begin with. I had to deal with it for months when I was learning piano and it just stuck.

"The song that I used to play on the piano?" The _only_ song I could play on the piano is more like it. He nodded.

"That one." He smiled at me, still puzzled. "Antoinette, is there something wrong, honey?" I whirled around. He knows!

"Why, why would there be anything wrong?" I asked, trying not to sound as nervous as I actually was.

"You're acting peculiar…"

"Daddy," I cut him off, "there's nothing wrong." I think something's right for a change. "Did you call for Mary?" I asked, attempting to change the subject.

"What?" He paused. "Oh, Mary. Yes, I'll go call for her." He turned on his heel, but stopped. "We're not done discussing this." I managed a laugh.

"Dad." I never call him Dad. If this doesn't make him strap me down into a chair and somehow pull the information out of me, nothing will. "I'm fine." It's easier to lie at this point. I may just be giddy, this whole stupid event tonight—I may have blown it completely out of proportion, but it was fun. I haven't laughed that sincerely since…since last night, when I was with Harry again. Interesting. Sure, it makes no sense, but it's got to. If not now, it has to make some sense…eventually.

"Mary said she'd be a few minutes," my father said, stepping back into the sitting room. I hadn't even realized he had left and already come back. I'm losing it. I was too wrapped up in my own thoughts to even know what's going on around me. I turned to my father, with the few bobby pins I could get out of my hair in my hand.

"That's fine. Well, I'll be in my room…" I gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"Ann, I—"

"Can't I be happy for one moment without you questioning it?" I asked, breaking a smile. He smiled, gently touching my cheek.

"It's not that. I love seeing you smile, I really do. I haven't seen you like this for months. Try to stay like this, would you? I know it would make both your mother—and me, very happy." I want to tell him it's temporary, but I feel as if I'm floating on air as it is. I'm not in the mood to break anyone's spirits. "Especially me."

"I can try," I said in all sincerity.

"That's all I ask." He sighed. "Good-night, Antoinette."

"Night, Daddy." I brushed past him and opening the door to my bedroom, I picked up my dress's train and walked in, shutting the door behind me. I leaned against the door, like I had done when I first made it back to my suite, but—Oh! I sighed happily, slowly but surely sliding down to the carpeted floor.

Tonight was wonderful. I am completely giddy about it! I know I'm probably overly happy about it, but Harold Lowe seems to be wonderful. I need to learn more about him, I know, but he seems so—perfect. It seems as if I'm not even worthy of him. He does seem to enjoy my company, but at this point, I'm not sure of anything.

I laughed to myself again, realizing how childish I was being. I'm acting like a little girl who just got a new dollhouse for no apparent reason! But, if this said dollhouse was Harold Lowe, maybe any other girl in my shoes would be acting even more loopy. Now, I can't be sure if I'm infatuated or…of if I'm actually falling for someone like Harold Lowe.


	12. Chapter Eleven

"What are you?" Harry asked me. I stopped my walking on the deck, turning to face him. I can't believe we've just been walking around this deck—it feels like it's only been minutes, but I think it's been hours, talking about anything we could think of. I merely had breakfast and I made myself disappear from my father's sight. He had been giving me peculiar looks this morning out on the promenade deck.

"You're humming again," my father felt the need to point out as we ate before managing a laugh. I think he was shocked I was in such a great mood—and why wouldn't I be? I was actually able to sleep, merely out of pure exhaustion from that silly chase from Ismay, and now here I am—with Harold Lowe. So, after we ate, my father said he was off to do a walk-through of Titanic, like he always seems to do every other day, and I left. Pretty quick and unnoticed, too, I'd like to point out.

"What?" I asked, confused to Harry.

"What are you?" What is he talking about?

"I don't understand—"

"Oh, oh." He laughed. "Are you French, Italian, German, what? Your heritage. I already know you're Irish."

"Andrews sticks out like an Irish thumb," I laughed. "Why do you ask?"

"Curious, besides it's one thing we haven't talked about yet."

"Everything but," I pointed out.

"I was wondering because you don't have an Irish accent, at least not like your father's."

"Well, he was raised in Ireland, I really wasn't." I leaned against the ship's white railing to face him as people continued to pass us on the deck. The sun is way too bright, I think by having my back to it, it won't be so bright. "I suppose that's why I don't have an Irish accent." I shrugged.

"To me, it sounds like a mix of Irish, French and American." He chuckled when I smiled.

"Do I really sound like that? I must sound so disoriented! My mother's French, so that may explain the French part of the accent."

"And your name."

"No, no, my father chose my name."

"Really?" Harry raised an eyebrow in thought.

"At my mother's protest. She uses that name against me."

"Is your mother on board? She sounds _awfully_ interesting." Sarcasm.

"Thank goodness, she's not. She hates to travel. I, for one, am relieved." He laughed.

"You sound it!" I bit my lower lip.

"What about you? Your life story—I just gave you a short version of my biography. Tell me something."

"About what?"

"Anything about you." He sighed, unsure of what to say.

"Well, I was born in North Wales." There, now we're getting somewhere. "…I ran away from home when I was fourteen." Ran away!?

"Fourteen?" He nodded. "That seems so young."

"I was supposed to go work for a company in Liverpool as an apprentice with my father—but I refused. Getting out seemed like the only option." Why hadn't I thought of running away before? It's because I really have nowhere to go.

"Good plan," I managed to joke.

"I wasn't going to work for nothing," he smiled. Alright, that actually makes sense. Just think: a man with some gray matter in his head. Ismay killed the theory that men had mined at all and I am now coming around to believing they may actually have a thought process.

"So, what did you do?" I asked.

"I worked on Welsh waters for five years and before I knew it, I was certified to become an officer. I joined the White Star Line here…" He hit his hand on Titanic's white railing, "a year ago."

"You're experienced on ships, then?" He smiled.

"I guess you could say that." He sighed, shaking his head. "But, I'm still glad I got out of that apprentice job."

"Why?"

"I wasn't going to be pin-holed for the rest of my life. My father wanted me to be him when he was at that age, as if he was trying to re-live his life through my eyes."

"Pin-holed?" I repeated. He nodded.

"I suppose others have had it worse, but when it's shoved down your throat every day since the day you could speak, it gets to be—"

"Unbearable." He glanced down at me, surprised before nodding.

"Yes, how did you…?" I managed a smile.

"My mother does the same thing." I crossed my arms over my chest. "She wants me to be raised as a proper lady, but proper ladies never do anything. They just sit around and let their husbands or fiancées chat about nothing in particular and nod when appropriate. And who wants that?"

"Not me. I've seen it, though. Both on Titanic and other ships I've been on. It's a shame, really." Oh my, he actually agrees with me on something I never even discussed! "Personally, I've seen a lot of young women get married to men who could be their grandfathers, let alone their fathers because of wealth." He laughed.

"It's ridiculous, isn't it? Every girl I ever went to school with is engaged because of money. Some younger than you'd expect."

"You're not married, are you?" he asked me suddenly, sounding extremely nervous. I shook my head.

"No."

"Engaged?"

"Not even close. My mother tried to set me up with one of those rich men, though. He was a prick." Much like Ismay. "I hated him from the first moment my mother introduced us. My father didn't know about it, she hid it from him because he hates the whole society picture."

"I can tell." I laughed.

"He just walks around with that little notebook, in his own nirvana," I sighed. "God bless him. I wish I could do that."

"Well, you could. There's a great gift shop that sells notebooks and pencils and…" His voice trailed off as I began to giggle.

"You know I didn't mean it like that!" That's when I saw him. Ismay! Stomping down the deck, looking to be in somewhat of a rage. I took Harry's arm and ran for the gymnasium door—and opening it, I ran in, Harry behind me. I shut the door quietly and went for the window, Harry behind me.

"What's the trouble?" he asked me, obviously not having seen Ismay. The door's half-frosted, so I can only see out of the corner of the window. I touched a finger to the glass without making a sound.

"Ismay."

"And his moustache?" I tried not to laugh, and nodded instead.

"And his moustache," I confirmed.

"Didn't you hear that commotion last night?" Ismay's voice seemed to blare through the glass windows as he stood in front of an older, obviously first-class, rich couple. The man shook his head.

"No, nothing."

"There was such a racket! Absolute chaos! Whoever felt the need to have tea and cookies at such an hour will have to pay for the broken china!" The man smiled at Ismay, shaking his head. He must be laughing—in his mind. I know I am.

"I doubt you'll ever find anyone who'll confess," he said.

"He's got that right!" Harry whispered into my ear.

"Shh!" I hissed at him.

"Even if it's the last thing I do!" Ismay promised, shaking his fist in the air, to no one in particular. Men. I rolled my eyes at that. "I will find out who did this, there were two people, and once I do, it will not be a pleasant picture." He glanced momentarily at the man's wife, tipping his hat to her. What a nutcase. "I'm sorry to distraught you, ma'am. Your room is just so close to where I chased those two people to and I thought maybe…"

"I'm sure you'll catch him," the man encouraged him. Is he kidding? Ismay never even got a good look at us, how could he ever find out? But, I won't be able to say a sentence to Ismay without looking guilty of something. I'm an awful liar and I suppose the broken china is a great excuse for making even less eye contact than I already do with Bruce Ismay. The jerk.

"I let the Master at Arms know, but…" Ismay sighed and glanced in the direction of the half-frosted window and I skidded to the side of the window, pulling Harry along with me. "Who knows at this point! Good day."

"Can he talk loud or what?" I asked Harry. He smiled.

"These are real wood doors, too. I can't believe we could hear him." He paused. "Do you think, that he knows it was us?" I shook my head.

"No, not yet, anyway. We must keep a low profile."

"Oh, well, I don't think running from Bruce Ismay is the answer."

"It's been working for us!" I argued in a joking tone. "Let's not mess with something that doesn't need fixing." I gestured to his wristwatch. "What time is it?"

"Almost six."

"Your watch has to be wrong," I mused aloud. We have not been walking around this deck all day—or have we? Are the days getting shorter, the sunshine hours diminishing in front of us?

"It's not wrong," he reassured me. "It was set by one of the best jewelers in—"

"Alright, alright!" I said, laughing. "I believe you. But, if that clock is right…"

"It _is_ right, Antoinette."

"Okay, then if it right, it's almost an hour before dinner." I sighed, leaning against the gymnasium's wall. "Getting something to eat is a package deal. We have to deal with Ismay. Or maybe I'll have to deal with him by myself. Are you on duty tonight?"

"Later on tonight, I am."

"Not at dinner?"

"No, it's another sucker's turn." He looked down at me. "I've paid my dues for the time being."

"Are you going to be with us at the table?" I asked.

"Not if I don't have to." He smiled.

"Then, I'll be left alone," I said, batting my eyes sadly.

"Will should be there." As if that solves the major problem? William Murdoch—Oh, poor woman-less Will. I haven't seen him all day, he must be working.

"I don't even think I want to go to dinner," I sighed. "Have any ideas of what we can do instead?" He smiled.

"I thought you'd never ask."


	13. Chapter Twelve

"Harry, what is this all about?" I asked him, laughing, as he continued to drag me towards the crew area from the deck.

"I can guarantee this'll be better than dinner—and that's all I'm going to say."

"Will there be food?"

"Well, no." He managed a laugh.

"Then, it can't be better than dinner." He smiled.

"You're right on that account." As we passed through areas I don't even remember seeing on the tour of the ship the day before—We passed a room filled with telegraphs and tables, where two operators sat, their backs to us, their ears covered with headphones. Harry whistled at them, making me jump.

"Sorry, Ann," he apologized as both men took off the headphones and turned.

"Harry!" said one Irish man. The other waved a greeting of hello.

"Jack, Harold, this is Antoinette," he said, gesturing to me. They both nodded, seeming to be attached to the cords from the table, unable to move. "Antoinette, this is Harold Bride, the assistant wireless operator." He gestured to the man who had just said hello. "And that's Jack Phillips, the chief operator." He then pointed to the one who had waved.

"Hello," I said simply to both of them, with a smile.

"Hello to you, Miss…?" Bride's voice trailed off.

"Andrews," Harry said simply. This is going to be extremely confusing—Harry and now Harold…? I shall call Harold Bride merely Bride and Harold Lowe simply Harry. That's that, problem solved.

"Andrews?" Jack questioned. Well, at least I know he's not a mute. I nodded. "You're Thomas Andrews's daughter?" I smiled shyly.

"That's me."

"Pleasure," he responded sincerely. "What are you doing, Lowe, dragging someone like Miss Andrews through our cramped quarters?" Harry didn't respond.

"Are you coming or not?" he asked both of them. Coming to _what_?

"That's tonight?" Jack asked, confused. Harry nodded. "Aw, I'd love to, but I've got to stay here. It's my shift tonight—Harold will be happy to go, though, won't you Bride?" He nodded eagerly, taking off his headphones and standing up. "Hey, if you lose, it's my turn!" Jack laughed.

"I don't plan on losing!" Bride responded enthusiastically to his superior.

"Harry, what are they talking about?" I asked him. He just smiled at me.

"Oh, you'll see." But, I don't want to see! I want to know. Harry, well, Lowe, he checked his watch and looked at Bride impatiently.

"Are you coming or not?" he asked him. "They're going to start without us."

"Yeah, yeah," Harold responded, stepping into the hallway with us. Oh, we're leaving?

"It was nice to meet you," I attempted to say to Jack. He smiled at me.

"You, too, Miss Andrews." Harry took my hand once more, intertwining his fingers with mine. My heart must've leaped! It had to have—I have this funny feeling in my stomach. It's just nerves, I suppose. We continued down the long corridor and Bride cleared his throat behind me.

"Miss Andrews, I—"

"Antoinette's fine," I said simply. "We're in the middle of a cramped corridor—why bother with formalities?" Harry began to laugh as he continued to pull me down the long hallway.

"Harry," Bride began, "I thought we weren't going to have women know about this!" Harry glanced momentarily over his shoulder at the operator, raising an eyebrow skeptically. "I thought we said that…"

"Antoinette's coming," he said, with a smile. I managed to get a peek over Harry's shoulder and we seem to be going towards a room at the end of the corridor. We suddenly took a sharp right and he opened the first door to our left. "Hope you didn't start without me!" he said happily.

"Harry, welcome back!" said a voice. I got another look over Harry's shoulder. Sitting at a rather large table were a few of Titanic's officers—Moody, Lightoller and…I let in a sharp breath of air, trying not to turn in another direction when I saw him. Will. Woman-less Will. Will was the one who spoke to Harry when we first appeared. I need to find someone he can fall in love with, _fast_.

Around them and the table were a few empty folding chairs with the White Star Line's red flag logo gleaming. I can never get away from Ismay, can I? In the center of the table was a deck of playing cards, that looked to have been really used. Harry dragged me all the way down here to play _cards_? I'm missing dinner to play _cards_?

"And we've got Bride," Harry said as Bride passed me and took a seat for himself at the table, "…and I'm sure all of you remember Antoinette." There was silence. "Mr. Andrews' daughter?" he reminded them. There was a mumbling amongst them, as if the lightbulbs in their heads had just turned on.

"Yes, yes," Lightoller said in his pristine accent as Moody managed a nod. Will smiled at me and although I could hardly see him, I can't bare to make eye contact. Harry squeezed my hand and pulled my arm a bit to get me to move into the room, but my feet seem planted into the floor.

"Ann, Ann, what are you doing?" he asked me when he realized I wasn't moving.

"Harry, I think I should go back to my room," I stammered.

"Oh, come now, Love, it'll be fun." _Love_? Is that a British pet name or something along those lines? Why am I suddenly okay with this? "It's either this or dinner, don't you remember?" he asked with a slight smile. "And…" he lowered his voice so only I could hear. "…Ismay." I shuddered at the thought of that.

"I forgot about that," I admitted. He smiled.

"Come then. If it's that awful, I'll take you back, alright?" I nodded, somewhat relieved.

"Okay."

"Okay." He turned back towards the room and took a step into the doorway, gently pulling me in. Will made eye contact with me and kept his eyes locked into mine until he saw my fingers intertwined with Harry's. His smile faded in a matter of seconds as I managed to take a step into the room. Those steps I just took, I stepped over Will's heart and crushed it. I could see it in his eyes.

"Well, welcome, young lady!" Moody said enthusiastically.

"How about we get down to playing while the night is still young?" Lightoller said with a laugh.

"…We're going to play poker," Harry informed me. He must've saw the confused look on my face. "Ever played?" I shook my head.

"I suppose there's a first time for everything." With that, I took a seat. Let's play some poker.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Lightoller began to shuffle the cards as I threw my purse that I had been carrying (out of habit, I suppose) to the ground beside my feet. I glanced around the table. Harry's at my left, Will on my right. How did this happen? Moody cleared his throat, gesturing to Harry.

"Harry, what happened to the no women rule?" Harry laughed as all eyes in the room went to me.

"Well, rules change," he replied.

"I can leave, if this rule is such a big—" I pointed to the door behind me.

"No, no, Antoinette," Harry reassured me. "We made up that rule when we were…"

"Really drunk," Will answered.

"Oh, that's reassuring!" I laughed. "Besides, I have no idea how to play poker. I'll slow everyone down."

"Aw, no you won't," Harry reassured me.

"Well, what's the game about?" I questioned, resting my hand in my palm.

"It's…" Lightoller's voice trailed off as he turned his attention back on the task of shuffling.

"You see…" Moody stopped himself.

"Well…" Will also had no idea what to say.

"There must be some purpose to this card game," I said aloud. Harry glanced about the table, almost ashamed.

"Dear Lord," he quipped, "We've been playing poker for how long now?" He laughed. "Ann, it's really very simple. Everyone at the table gets five cards a piece—and the cards are ranked."

"Ranked?" He nodded.

"Mm-hmm. The Aces are the highest and twos are the lowest." He gestured to the cards still in Lightoller's hands. "Whoever has the cards with the highest rank wins." He paused. "There are straight flushes, four of a kind, full house, flush—" Is my mind spinning or what?

"You want to write this down?" I asked him. "You lost me at the four of a kind." Harry managed a smile and grabbing some paper from the table with the usual White Star Line monogram on it, he took out a pencil from his pocket and wrote in capital letters on the top of the page: WHITE STAR LINE POKER HANDS OF VALUE. "Oh, you can't be serious!" I exclaimed, howling with laughter.

"I'm serious!" he reassured me. "Okay, you see, the straight flush is the highest." He made a quick list, numbered one through five and wrote down _straight flush_ in the number one spot.

"Now, what's that?"

"This could take all night," Will murmured, rubbing his forehead.

"Well, you four go on ahead and Harry can explain this to me as quickly as possible."

"Sounds fine to me," Lightoller contended, passing out the cards to the non-participating people to the teaching lesson.

"Now, the straight flush is the best you can get with poker," Harry began. "It's usually five cards in order, like five, six, seven, eight, nine…and they have to be all of the same suit." He's writing down everything as he speaks.

"Suit?" I asked, confused. I'm thinking of a business suit.

"Haven't you ever played cards?" I wish!

"I'm a society girl—Women don't play cards. At least not poker." I have played with cards before—Go Fish, anyone, or solitaire, but I never realized the cards were categorized into suits. I always just matched them up with solitaire, I never knew there was a name for them.

"Suit is the color coordination of all of the cards. I'm not sure how to explain it. There are four suits: diamonds, hearts, spades and clubs." Will tapped on my shoulder, holding out the five cards in his hand.

"See? These are the hearts and the diamonds." He pointed to the matching red cards. "The clubs look like clovers." He gestured to a three-leafed clover that was tinted black. "…And spades, I'm not sure where they got that name from." He pointed to another card in his hand before turning back to his game.

"Thank you, Will," I tried to say sincerely. He smiled.

"Okay, now…" Harry took my wrist to get my attention. "Now, with a straight flush, if you ever get all royalty and they have the same suit—an ace, a king, a queen, a jack and a ten, that's called a royal flush or an ace-high flush." He scribbled it down as a footnote on the stationary sheet.

"Which you can never get!" Moody chimed in with a laugh.

"That's true," Harry concluded, with a smile. "Either way, they must be in numbered order and have the same suit. Got it?"

"I think so." Thank goodness he's writing this down!

"Now, the four of a kind." He wrote that down in the number two slot. "It basically is just four cards with the same number, such as nine. You could have four cards with ten on them and then a random card that doesn't really matter. Either way, there are four cards altogether."

"Okay…" I think this is making sense. I hope it's sinking in.

"Now, a full house." He smiled at me as he wrote that down as number three on our list of poker must-knows. "Am I going too fast?" he asked suddenly, nervous. I shook my head.

"That's why you're writing it down," I concluded, gesturing to the paper.

"It's for future reference," he reassured me. "The women at tea will just be in shock!" He burst into a smile.

"Sure they will." I pointed to the paper. "Now, I would like to lose _tonight_, you know."

"Oh, right. The…the…" He snapped his fingers, trying to think of the word, his train of thought out the window or in this case, the porthole.  
"A full house."

"Right. Full house is a three of a kind and a pair. You could have three cards that have five on them and then two other cards that are both queens. Three cards must match and two other cards have to match." He began to draw out card diagrams on the paper. I giggled at that. How thoughtful. "Now, a flush—"

"Didn't we just talk about that?"

"That was a straight flush, Love. Completely different."

"Alright."

"A flush is just five cards of the same suit—such as diamonds, in no particular order. See, that's different from the straight flush…"

"Which had to have five cards of the same suit and had to be in a sequence."

"Hey, you're quick, aren't you?" Lightoller noticed aloud, barely looking up from his cards.

"I should say so," I replied.

"Alright, now a straight. That's just five cards in sequence of various suits. It doesn't matter if they are all different, as long as they have an order…two, three, four, five." I just stared at him as he shut his mouth. "You get the general point, don't you?" I chuckled as he wrote something else down on the paper.

"Yes."

"Three of a kind—simple, Ann."

"Three cards that all have the same number on them?" I suggested.

"Exactly. Two other cards in that hand are unmatched." He wrote that down.

"Two pair…Now, that's two sets of cards that are the same. For example, you could have a pair of three's and a pair of five's, and then one unmatched card. Make sense?"

"Somewhat." I'm sure I'll get the hang of it.

"Now, one pair. That's just one pair of cards of the same value and three unmatched cards." Well, it's nice to know poker terms actually make sense—sometimes.

"Lastly…" He added number nine to the list, writing down the word _nothing_.

"Nothing?" I asked, confused.

"Nothing. You have nothing that matches up to these." He pointed to the terms listed one through eight. "You have nothing, in plain English. You have nothing of any value. Basically, whoever's sitting beside you is beating you."

"I'll end up with that," I concluded.

"I'm sure it won't be that bad." He turned the paper over, writing down WHITE STAR LINE POKER TERMS.

"We're not done yet?" I asked, sighing. "I can just watch, you know."

"Oh, it's fun," Moody reassured me.

"…Once you get the hang of it." Will just had to say that, didn't he? This is going to be awful, a train wreck, I can already feel it in my bones.

"This is for betting," Harry began.

"You actually use money?"

"Oh, we use anything!" Lightoller laughed. "Money, paperclips, it doesn't really matter. Whatever's in the room at the time." That's real reassuring, my friend.

"Okay, Harry, my head's spinning."

"Well, we're using paperclips tonight," Will tried to reassure me. "Once the paperclips run out, we use coins." He shrugged.

"I guess we ought to start playing before the night is over," I told Harry as he put the pencil pack into his pocket.

"Yes, I suppose we ought to," he agreed.

"Welcome, Miss Andrews," Lightoller laughed as he collected the cards, "To the underground world of poker!"


	15. Chapter Fourteen

The group sighed as I laughed in victory, collecting the paperclips and miscellaneous objects that were in the betting pool.

"You are too good at this!" Moody said, rubbing his eyes.

"Are you sure you haven't played before?" Lightoller continued. He has interrogated me all night, ever since I began winning. He thinks it's some conspiracy or that I have cards hidden in my dress or something along those lines.

"Beginner's luck?" I suggested meekly, shrugging a shoulder. I haven't won the whole time—Will has one once and so has Harry—but Bride had definitely won more times than any of us. Too bad he had to leave and Jack never got the chance to join us. I already miss Bride, he was sweet.

Besides, the betting! I already had to throw my evening gloves into the mix during one round because I was out of paperclips. I'm waiting until I have to give up my shoes.

"This is ridiculous!" Will laughed, trying to sound angry at me. I'm surprised he's not acting too vicious towards me—His face dropped when he saw Harry holding my hand.

"Oh, come now," I laughed, "they're just paperclips."

"Our pride is completely shattered," Harry joked.

"We're not men," Moody chuckled. "Where's Bride, he was beating us!"

"I know," I sighed. "Well, I have no use for paperclips. You're going to get them back. Harry would've taken them and used them to his full advantage." I paused. "We're going to start over, right?" Lightoller nodded, collecting the cards from us and beginning to shuffle them.

"I'm shuffling them _well_," Lightoller explained, shooting a look at me. "I think I was too easy with my shuffling."

"How can you be easy on shuffling?" I questioned with a raised eyebrow as Harry hid his laughter. Lightoller cautiously shuffled, eyeing me closely as I picked up my cards. Hmm. I glanced down at the paper, then back at the cards. Alright, I seem to have a pair of queens, a king, a four, and a seven. Alright, not too bad—a pair of queens. Could've been better. Lightoller is going to make me give up my shoes. I can feel it. Now, the bets.

Harry threw in a few coins from his pocket and so did Lightoller. Moody actually pushed his cuff links in. Are we playing hardcore or are we going to get our things back? The paperclips are still in the center of the table. Were we supposed to get a bunch of them again or…no? I'm taking this as a no.

The only thing I wanted back from my last victory were my gloves, and I'll probably have to throw them back in, my luck. I hate those gloves, anyway. They're too long, they go up to my elbow. My mother thinks they make women—_women_. Oh, what would my mother be thinking of me now? Playing poker with a bunch of men? This is now truly wonderful.

Will glanced around the table before pulling out a notebook and throwing it onto the table. "That'll be worth something, someday," he said, with a smile. "It's everything I've had to do on this ship."

"You'll win it back," I joked. My turn. I glanced around at what I had. No money on me, sadly—I had already thrown it into the betting hole of doom, as I now lovingly refer to it, and I hate my gloves…Hmm…As I turned my head, something pulled on my hair and made me yelp. "Ow! You know…!" I growled as I attempted to find out what caused me such pain.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked me, concerned. I nodded as I untangled my hair from those stupid earrings I just had to have. I smiled. I'm throwing 'em in! I took them off and threw them into the load of goodies. "Those earrings aren't that bad, you know!" Harry laughed.

"Well, I despise them. Plus, they're gems. Someone will find a good home for them." Will stifled his laughter. "We getting rid of cards or what?" I questioned.

Lightoller nodded and tossed a card away, Harry threw away two, and Will threw away one before collecting the right amounts in which were due. I glanced at the cards in my hand. The queens would stay, that's at least one pair. Hmm…Alright, the four it is. I threw it into the pile of useless cards and took a card from the deck. Oh, a seven. I think that's good!

Now, more betting. Really, poker is a man's game. There's so much risk—imagine playing with actual money and other valuables! Some more coins, some more other miscellaneous objects and then it was my turn. I bit my lower lip, now what? My purse. I hate this silly little thing and I'm sure nobody will want it, so I have a good chance of getting it back. I think. I own it and I hate it. I picked up my purse and threw it into the table.

"We done?" Moody asked. Everyone nodded. "Alright, what did everyone get?"

"Nothing!" Lightoller sighed, agitated. He must think I'm a witch—Actually one with magical powers.

"Two pair," Harry said happily.

"One pair," I said, throwing the cards onto the table and leaning back into my chair.

"Three of a kind," Will said proudly, displaying his winning ticket before gathering up his new winnings.

"Well, at least it wasn't Antoinette," Moody said with a laugh.

"Thanks, that was so sweet of you," I replied sarcastically. With that, there was a knock on the door. Everyone immediately jumped to attention at the sound and the cards and winnings were collected quickly and threw them into Lightoller's hat, which he threw to his feet, kicking it under the table. Everyone sat down again and Moody said it was alright to come in. They had that synchronized! Incredible.

The door opened and there stood an older man and a breath of relief filled the air and the tension in the room disappeared immediately. Oh, that's Henry Wilde—I remember him from lunch.

"Dear God," Will breathed, sighing for the sake of relief.

"We thought you were the Captain!" Moody explained.

"That's what you do when you think the Captain's coming?" I questioned, gesturing to the officer's hat filled with cards and the stupid betting objects.

"It's a routine," Lightoller shrugged. "We do that in case it's the Captain or someone else high up in the White Star Line." Ismay, perhaps?

"The Captain doesn't approve of gambling," Harry explained.

"I wonder why that could be," I laughed into in his ear as Lightoller took the hat from the floor and dumped its' contents back onto the table where they belonged.

"Actually, the Captain doesn't believe in any extracurricular activities that don't involve the ship we're sailing," Moody pointed out.

"Well, my shift's over," Wilde chimed in, taking off his hat and wiping his brow. "It's bloody cold out there." He gestured to Harry. "It's almost time for your shift, Harry." He then saw me and smiled. "Well, I didn't see you there!" he said with a laugh. "Heard the voice, just not its' source." He smiled. "Miss Andrews, how are you?"

"She's winning at poker," Lightoller muttered.

"You've got her playing poker?" Wilde asked before laughing. "And she's _winning_?" The group nodded unanimously.

"Shocking, isn't it?" I asked with a chuckle as he took my hand and shook it. "Pleasure to see you again." I barely remembered him.

"You, too." He glanced over at Harry and I turned to face him. He seemed to have his mind somewhere else, it obviously wasn't in this room. "Harry?" Wilde asked at him. He didn't respond. "Your shift, you should bring Miss Andrews back to her room before it gets too late and you have no time…"

"Harry?" I asked and he immediately snapped to attention.

"Yes, Ann?" The group laughed under their breath.

"Did you hear him?" I asked, gesturing to Wilde.

"Who?" He sounds completely clueless.

"Officer Wilde."

"Oh, no, what was he talking about?"

"Your night shift's going to be starting soon." He glanced down at his watch and then nodded.

"Oh, it is."

"You ought to bring Miss Andrews back to her suite," Wilde advised.

"Yes, yes, of course." He stood up and so did I as Wilde took a seat in Bride's unused chair. I gathered up my gloves and my paper with the White Star Line rules and regulations on it and folding it up, I stuffed it into the hand of my gloves.

"Well, congratulations, Will, you won," I said, with a smile. He managed a smile.

"Alright, well, thank you for letting me ruin your poker game," I said with a nod to the other officers still seated at the table.

"No problem," Moody said with a smile.

"It was our pleasure," Lightoller reassured us. "Come back tomorrow. Tomorrow's blackjack night."

"Blackjack?" I paused, but nodded. What have I got to lose—except for some useless jewelry and accessories? "Alright." Harry took my hand, ready to walk out the door when Will said simply, "Oh, wait." We both turned as Will as he stood up, beginning to dig through the pile of his newly acquired winnings. We stood there, his back to us, wondering what he was doing—until he turned. In one hand were his earrings and in another was my purse.

"Here."

"Will, you won them," I concluded. "Keep them."

"I couldn't do that," he said, holding them out for me. "They're yours."

"You could give them to some lovely lady," I conjured on, with a wink. They're just objects, anyway, they don't mean anything to me. I hate those earrings and I hate that beaded purse. Sighing, I took the objects back. I owe that to him, anyway. If woman-less Will wants me to have my things back, I can do that for him, at least.

"I just did," he replied. How sweet was _that_? I feel so guilty, remembering that disappointed look on his face.

"Thank you, Will," I said as sincerely as I could muster.

"No problem. Night."

"Night." And to everyone else, "Night!" I turned back to Harry and squeezing my hand, we began our trek back to civilization in silence.

"How long is your shift tonight?" I asked him as we continued down the cramped hallway.

"At least four hours," he sighed, glancing over his shoulder at me.

"Oh." As we made our way towards the first class, Harry still knowing the ship better than I do, and as the Master Shipbuilder's daughter—this is not necessarily a good thing! Now out of the cramped hallways and in one of the many first-class carpeted hallways, lit by those convenient little lights hanging high on the walls, Harry turned to me. Why are we stopping? The hallways are empty, sure, but I'm so tired, I can barely think straight.

"Did you have some fun tonight?" he asked me, with a slight smile. I nodded.

"Absolutely. Even though I'm not a big fan of mathematics, I still had a great time."

"I'm so happy to hear that, Antoinette. I really am." He paused.

"Granted, I'm tired now and starving—"

"I can go get you something to eat," he offered.

"Remember what happened last night?" I said, with a smirk. "If you can't remember, it wasn't good."

"That's true."

"I still wouldn't trade it for anything in the world." He smiled, almost surprised.

"Really? You had that great of a time?" He seems doubtful.

"I did."

"Well, then, I…" He took a step towards me, keeping is eyes on me, refusing to look away. "Dear God, what was I going to say?" he mumbled, more to himself than to me. I don't understand where these nerves are coming from, but whenever he takes my hand or what-not, I've realized my stomach does these little summersaults. I've never had that feeling before, but the summersaults never seem to stop. Even with my stomach being empty, the summersaults just continue, until Harry isn't holding my hand or something along those lines. "Antoinette…" His voice trailed off.

"Yes, Harry?"

"I love you." I'm taken aback as he sighed a breath of somewhat relief, wiping his forehead.

"What?" I asked, unsure if what I heard actually was what he had said or if he had merely told me good night and my hunger was making me hear things.

"I love you," he repeated. "With every single word you say, I'm falling more in love with you! More in love with you than I already am." Okay, what am I supposed to say to _that_?

"You're being direct again," I said softly. He smiled.

"Yes, I suppose I am, but I do love you. You're different from any other person I've ever known. Antoinette." He touched my cheek gently, and I swear to you, I almost felt as if I was floating on air. "I know this is so sudden, we barely know each other—but from the first moment I saw you, I've loved you."

Well, it's nice to know I wasn't the only one who felt the initial spark that day at lunch. I thought I was losing my mind for a moment or so there. Then, there was this silence and he squeezed my hand.

"Ann? You want to add anything?" he asked, sounding completely worried. I was so giddy last night and even today, I've never felt that way about anyone else before. I think I love him, too. I think I fell for someone like Harold Lowe, after all. I didn't say anything, but kissed him. Surprised, he seemed to be taken aback, but pulled me in closer to him. When he let go of the kiss, I smiled at him.

"I love you, too, Harry." I never realized how wonderful it felt to say _I love _you and actually, truly mean it. I've said _I love you _so many times these past few months—to family and close friends—but I never truly meant it. I mean it now. I paused, biting my lower lip. "And who cares if it's sudden? I like direct."

"How could I forget?" With that, we kissed again.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

"I just don't know what I'm going to do with you, young lady!" My father sighed tiredly, running a hand through his graying hair as he continued to pace the carpeted suite.

Of course, it's past midnight now—it's almost one 'o' clock in the morning, to be absolutely exact. I'm exhausted, yet I don't know how I'll be able to sleep tonight. When Harry and I were finally able to part ways earlier this evening, I had been walking on air. I still am. I think I'm in love. No, no—I _know _I'm in love. I'm in love with Fifth Officer Harold Lowe and there are only three people on this ship who realize that. My father, of course, has his suspicions about my sudden dreamy-eyed behavior, and I merely know this by all of the questions he's been asking. Harry knows it and I know it, and sadly Will realizes it, too. I know I should be happy about meeting someone I truly connected with, but…poor Will. I never thought he would think of me that way and…

"Antoinette Andrews, are you _even_ listening!?" my father practically screeched. No, I'm not. Thinking back to when I walked back into the suite, it must've been 12:30 in the morning, in the room was my father, pacing like he is now, the Master of Arms, some officers I've never seen before in my life—and Bruce Ismay, with a glass of brandy in his hand. My father begged to know where I had been, but I hadn't gotten a chance to say anything—The Master of Arms thought he should get going with his group and Ismay started about that silly china again. I was informed there had been a search for me.

My father had been so worried about my safety when I hadn't come back, even for dinner, that he felt the need to stop everything, start looking for me and wasn't able to even find me. Ismay had to need to speak up, saying they had been looking for hours for me—but he looked as if he hadn't even lifted a finger. Granted, he was probably more drunk than usual, but then again, that is his normal, charming, persona. Then he felt the need to say something along the lines of hoping not to waste those cigars and brandy tomorrow night with more, ahem, _searching_. Either way, I kept my laughter hidden as he followed the Master of Arms down the hallway, saying he wanted whoever broke that china handcuffed to a pipe. That was before saying nobody could do their job on this ship.

Ismay had eyed me the whole time he was speaking, up and down and up and down—the usual creepy glares. And even thinking about those cigars and brandy, the last thing he needs is more liquor! The whole first-class lot of men are a bunch of alcoholics—with one man aside. My father. He can enjoy a drink, but he doesn't get that much of a buzz from it, my mother would kill him for it if she ever found out.

"Antoinette!" I glanced up at my father, who didn't look as if he was ready to stop pacing just yet. "Wherever you are, come back to Earth." I sighed. I want my own little world, is that too much to ask. "Now, I'm going to ask you again: Antoinette Andrews, where the Hell were you!?" Before he was worried, and now he's just furious.

"Daddy, I—"

"I looked everywhere for you! You weren't at dinner, nobody had seen you—Do you realize how worried I was for you—especially once it got dark?" I shook my head.

"I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"You don't know this ship, Antoinette! You just can't go parading around by yourself any time you please! This ship still has glitches and until it is perfect, you can't just go about, walking around without a care in the world!" He is so angry, I actually gulped. I've never seen him this upset before. He took in a deep breath, trying to calm himself as he ran a hand through his hair once more. Violence is never the answer, he must know that. He's been on this Earth far longer than me. Then again, he might realize how much he sounds like my mother. _"You can't go around parading anywhere without a proper companion."_ I rolled my eyes at my mother's comment, still locked away in my memory. "Where were you?"

"What?" I'm lost again.

"Where. Were. You?"

"I was…" My voice trailed off. I can't honestly tell him I was playing poker!

"You were _where_?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"On deck," I blatantly lied. It's easier to lie at this point. I'm not sure of what he would do if he ever found out I was playing cards with a bunch of seamen.

"Don't lie to me, young lady. Don't you think I scoured this whole ship—including the deck?" Yes. "Alright, let's say I believe you. I don't. Where on the deck?"

"Near the stern." Just keep toppling the lies, Antoinette…

"I didn't see you."

"I was there, Daddy."

"Antoinette…" His voice trailed off, taking my hands. "Just tell me," he said softly, trying to calm down. He had this look on his face, this look of concern mixed with sadness. "I thought I had lost you."

Oh, that was heart-wrenching. Just staring at him, my eyes practically welled up with tears. Had I known what time it actually was, had I even though how worried he must've been…I never would've missed dinner. I could've just dealt with Ismay—No, now, I can't be so sure I wouldn't have confessed there on the spot had he mentioned it.

"I was…"

"You were where, darling?" he asked, gently easing me along.

"I was with…Harold." I can't ever keep a secret! He cocked his head, confused.

"Lowe?" I nodded.

"You were with him…_all night_?" I shook my head.

"Oh, no, no." Whatever he's thinking, I really don't want to hear it. "I was with Will, too."

"And you three were…?"

"Just talking about the weather." More like gambling—but at this point, the least he knows, the better.

"Antoinette, we're in the middle of the North Atlantic. What weather is there to discuss?"

"It hasn't rained yet," I had to point out. He sighed, dropping my hands and beginning to pace once more.

"Ann, I have no idea what I'm going to do with you," he felt the need to repeat. "You missed dinner, and—" Is that he really has to worry about?

"Daddy, I'm sorry, I just lost track of time!" He looked down at me, looking as if he was in his own dream world.

"I don't understand what's the trouble with you, Ann. You barely spoke for months and now, you act as if you're in your own wonderland. You never hear me."

"I hear you," I argued.

"You hear me, yes, but you don't necessarily _listen_ to me." He paused. "I have certain rules, Antoinette, and although you may think of them as silly and unnecessary, I have them because of times like this. What if something had happened to you?"

"I don't know," I managed to choke out.

"Exactly. You don't know. You don't know all of the people on this ship and although I do trust Titanic's officers, you need to be back here at an appropriate time."

"We never discussed times!"

"You're right, we never did. Now, we are. I want you back before ten." I sighed. I'm old enough to make my own decisions about how long I'll stay out. I fought the urge to roll my eyes or even argue with him. It's not worth the energy. "And I don't want you to be alone. Not everyone on this ship knows who you or I are and not everyone is as nice as those officers are." He hesitated. "Now, about your wonderland…"

"There is _no_ wonderland," I corrected. There might be and it merely concerns Harry and I.

"Ann, I just want to know what's going on."

"Daddy, nothing's going on."

"Don't shut me out." He sat down beside me, taking my hands once more. "Please." I didn't say a word. "Antoinette, please." He managed a chuckle. "I ask because I care, you know." I nodded.

"I know," I replied quietly. This isn't the time or the place. I can't have him dislike Harry, because I know he can make Harry disappear—when I'm truly in love with him. "There's nothing to worry about," I told him confidently.

"Your persona has changed practically overnight. I love seeing you like this, I'm just curious about what brought on the change." He managed a smile, expecting somewhat of an answer. Can't he just enjoy my happiness? Didn't I ask him this before?

"I think you were right. Getting out of England was for the best." I stood up. I can tell by the look on his face he didn't necessarily adore my answer to the question—but I at least answered it. "I promise, from now on, I'll be back before ten. I'm sorry."

"I was just worried, Ann. Please don't make me call for another search party again, alright?" I nodded.

"Alright." He stood up, kissing me on the forehead.

"I don't mean to sound so angry with you, darling." He sighed. "I _do_ love you, Antoinette, everything I do, I do because I love you." Why does he always say that? It's so endearing. I'm so lucky to have him for my father.

"I know. I love you, too." I can't believe I haven't said anything about Harry yet to him. But, he's not a confidant, he's my father. He's my parent. My mother would be furious if she knew about Harry and I—but she would've found out much sooner than my father. She would've hired a private eye, my luck. My father has noticed my drifting thought process, but I don't think he has put two and two together. I'm sure it's just a matter of time.

"I'll call for Mary," he said simply, as I went for my bedroom. I nodded over my shoulder and stepping into my bedroom, I shut the door behind me. I sighed. He'll find out eventually about Harry and I, but I want him to be okay with it. Even if he isn't society, Harry, which my mother surely won't approve of—I want to be happy. Is that so much to ask? Perhaps this may just be an infatuation with Harry, but I don't think it is. Maybe it's just a one-time fling for him, or for _me_…? How can there be so much love between us? It makes no sense, yet—I haven't felt as content ever in my life. The truly frightening part is this: I could imagine being Mrs. Harold Lowe.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

I had another strange dream last night. It was a mixture of two dreams into one…I recounted the poker game, only this time there were piles of money scattered throughout the room and on the table in front of me. Will was winning. No surprise, there, I suppose. The second part of the dream, or the mix was that we were standing in New York, on New York Harbor, playing poker between masses of people. It was really strange, either way. The almost livable part of the dream was when I realized I was wearing an engagement ring. I thought I was engaged to Harry, but it turned out, I was engaged to Ismay! I ended up, still on the New York Harbor, throwing the ring off the dock into the water and Ismay dove in after it. "You'll have to pay for that!" he shouted at me before diving underwater. And that's when I woke up.

The last thing I want to do today is go to the morning services. For goodness sake, it's April 14th, already! Who would've thought that the days would be slipping away so fast. I want to hold onto them just a little longer. I can't even imagine that in only a few days, I'll be away of this hunk of iron. I just can't imagine myself being _away_ from Harry.

Now standing during the church services, I can barely keep my mind focused on the task at hand: singing. I know I can't sing for the life of me, but I think it's essential during these ship services. I'm not really sure. My father looks as if he doesn't even really want to be here. I know I don't want to be here, but shouldn't he keep up his appearances, since he designed Titanic and all of her luster? He had been pouring over blueprints this morning and I had to pester him to hurry up so we wouldn't be late. He was the one who originally wanted to go. I suppose men change their mind just as often, if not more often, than women.

I kept my eyes on the book with the hymns in front of me, barely even reading the words as I pretended to mumble along. I can't stay focused. My mind just seems to be shooting off into a million directions. What did that creepy Ismay dream mean? I know it didn't mean I was actually going to become Ismay's wife! Even in the dream, he felt the need to eye me up and down. I can't even escape the jerk—not even in my dreams.

To top off my incredible horrible morning, Ismay actually had the nerve to want to sit beside me during church. I didn't want him next to me, especially after that awful dream, but I couldn't explain to my father that his superior at the White Star Line seemed to stare at me inappropriately. Who knows what he might try to do, where his greasy hands were hidden behind the wooden pews. I shudder at the thought.

"Daddy," I had said sweetly before the service had began, "Can I sit at the end of the row?"

"Why, darling?" he had asked, with his usual puzzled, half-smile. I think he's given up understanding me at this point.

"So we can leave," I whispered into his ear, gesturing to the doors leading to the exit outside He managed a laugh and agreed. As it is, I've had to lie to my father how many times now?

I'm still being forced to listen to this navy hymn. The Captain is leading the service at the head of the room, with most of the officers behind him to his right. Harry's here, but I don't see Will. Strange. I suppose someone needs to keep an eye on where we're going, even during church. He kept stealing glances at me, with this slight smile. Every time I looked over, he looked at me, square in the eye, before looking away. I couldn't help but smile back!

But, how can I sing with him watching? I had to fight the urge to start laughing, remembering the card game the night before, and remembering the exchanges of _I love you_ it made my heart sort of—what's the word? Flutter. Even worse, I have the urge to run up to him and hug him, planting a large kiss on his cheek.

As we reached the last verse of the hymn, for some strange reason, I felt the urge to start singing. Everyone around us was, even if they sounded awful—which Ismay really does…I'm surprised my ears aren't bleeding by now…I found my place in the book in my hands and began to sing.

"O Trinity of love and power," I sang, "your children shield in danger's hour; from rock and tempest, firs and foe, protect them wheresoe'er they go; thus, evermore shall rise to Thee, glad hymns of praise from land and sea."

We resumed our seats and I placed the hymn book back into its' proper place. As the music faded away and the Captain began to speak, I locked my arm with my father's. He glanced at me, smiling. I smiled back, unsure of what else to do. I glanced up from my hands to Harry, who still had the book in his hands. His eyes locked with mine and for what felt like such a long duration of time, I couldn't look away. We just kept exchanging smiles, unsure of what else to do. I don't think he can leave his spot behind the Captain and it would look awfully suspicious if he left, with me. _"Imagine what everyone would say!"_ That would be my mother.

"Antoinette?" Whoever felt the need to say my name, I'm not answering. Not now. "Ann?" Harry looked away and the gaze we had going—the sweet, innocent looking back and forth was gone for the time being. I love him. I glanced to my right. "Ann?" he asked again. Oh, my father was talking to me. "What were you staring at?" he asked me.

"Nothing," I responded, quickly looking around my surrounding to see that everyone was beginning to leave. The Captain must've been wrapping up the services. I unlocked my arm with my father's and stood up. He looked where I was staring. I could see out of the corner of my eye that Harry himself was just putting his hymn book back where he had found it. Harry looked over to where we were—not seeing my father staring at him, managed a smile at me. I tilted my head slightly in a nod.

My father glanced at me, having seen the nod, and then back at Harry. A smile appeared on his face, but I am not making eye contact with either of these men right now. I think the jig is up!

"Are we leaving or not?" I asked him as he stood up.

"Yes, yes, of course," he responded, beginning for the exit. We stood at the end of this sort of line, waiting for other first-class passengers to pass through the doorway. These people feel the need to walk very slowly—it must be the corsets, which I can understand completely.

I quickly looked over my shoulder and Harry was out of sight. The band was still packing away their instruments, but any sign of Titanic's crew actually participating in this service was gone. They really know how to leave before the crowd. As we passed half-way through the doorway, I tugged on my father's arm.

"So, am I free for the day?" I can't believe I just asked him that!

"Well, Ann, I—"

"Mr. Andrews, could I possibly speak with you?" came a voice. It was a very well tailored-up man, dressed in his finest, who looked to be very polished, and had a woman hanging on his arm. Is that John Jacob Astor? He looks so familiar, I can't place him. I just remember my mother discussing at dinner one night the fact that he would be on the ship and that he was quote-on-quote "the richest man on the ship." My father gave me this look as if he didn't even want to deal with him, but managed a nod at the Astor character—or whoever he is. At this point, it's anyone's guess.

"Antoinette, just give me a minute, alright, sweetheart?"

"Sure." I unlocked arms with him as he disappeared in the crowd still leaving the service. I stood there, unsure of what to do, until I was pulled to the right of the doorway, rather harshly. Whoever it was, they turned me around to face them. Harry. I managed a giggle and he laughed a little himself. "Hello, stranger," I said, as he pulled me closer to the wall and away from the crowd, taking off his hat.

"Hello, Beautiful." He said that so sincerely, I wanted to hug him. I know this wasn't the time or the place, but that was so…_sweet_. "I couldn't even look away from you at the service all morning. I'm sure you noticed." I nodded. How could I _not_ notice?

"Neither could I," I admitted softly.

"I think I'm going to Hell." I looked up from the floor to him, my eyes wide. "I couldn't concentrate—I was too distracted by you." He paused, breaking a smile. "I could not believe how stunning you looked, this early in the morning. I didn't think anyone could look that _perfect_." I managed a smile. He must've spent hours thinking up that line and as pathetic as it may sound to an outsider, it's adorable.

"You know, you don't have to flatter me to death!" I whispered between my teeth. I'm already too lost to pull myself back, anyway. He must realize that. Right?

"But, is it working?" he asked, with a smile.

"Absolutely."

"Could I see you again?" he asked me.

"What? What are you—"

"What I mean is: can we spend the day together? As long as you're not busy…"

"I'll have to check my planner," I joked, gesturing over my shoulder. "Who knows what my father has planned for me today. He wasn't too happy about last night."

"The poker?"

"Oh, he has _no_ idea about that." I smiled. "Let's not mention it around him, alright?" He nodded.

"Agreed."

"He wasn't all that pleased at how late I was out. There was a search party looking for me! He got scared, I think."

"…He sounds…_very_ protective," he noted aloud.

"Paranoid is another good word to describe that." I paused, biting my lower lip. "Besides, what do you suppose we do?"

"Well, I didn't necessarily think that far," he admitted. "Anything. As long as I'm with you, it doesn't matter." He must've seen the look on my face before managing a laugh, nodding. "I'll find something for us to do," he reassured me. He looked over my shoulder at the still-enormous crowd. "How about it, Ann? Wish to escape?"

"Desperately."

"Antoinette?" my father's voice rang out through the crowd. I looked over my shoulder and there he was, talking to some other officer, one I can't quite make out through the crowd. Oh, it's Wilde.

"Where will you be?" I asked him as I let go of his hands. "We can figure something out."

"I'll find you," he replied.

"Antoinette!" my father's voice, clearly full of aggravation, called out once more, even louder this time.

"Until then," Harry decided, with a smile.

"Until then." I sighed, before beginning to push through the last few people of the crowd to reach my father. This room is only so big! How could all of those people fit inside? I finally managed to reach my father. Wilde had disappeared, which just leaves him. Ismay is nowhere to be seen, thank goodness.

"Ah, there you are honey," my father said, his voice trailing off as he took my arm. "You got lost in the shuffle there for a moment or so." He paused. "I thought we'd have lunch on the promenade deck before I start working. Those blueprints are a true horror. They're not right, things must be fixed and—"

"Lunch sounds wonderful," I said simply. Was he planning on going on all day about it? "Why not with the others?"

"I don't think I could take Bruce discussing boilers for a whole other meal," he said under his breath.

"Oh." I understand the aggravation. Ismay is such a pain with an enormous ego. And he's a drunk. When those two qualities mix together, you end up with a cocktail of Bruce Ismay—all slurred together in an expensive suit. "Well, alright." I fought the urge to look over my shoulder, to see if Harry was gone or not.

"Great." My father and I ascended the stairs, him off in his own version of wonderland—and he thinks I daze? I looked over my shoulder, hoping to maybe catch one final glimpse of him. After a woman passed where we had been standing, blocking my view, I realized he was gone.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

Sitting on the promenade deck, I am so incredibly bored, it's pathetic. I should be looking out at that great big, beautiful sky before us out the windows and at the sky full of clouds, but I seem to be staring at the wall. Granted, it's a nice wall, with polished oak and decoration to it, but I can't seem to bring my eyes to the windows—let alone the book in my hand that I am _supposedly_ reading. How can I possibly sneak out of here with my father still here? Doesn't he work on this ship? He usually goes around, looking for things that really shouldn't be fussed with to begin with, and makes note of them. Why isn't he?

He has those blueprints of the ship sprawled out on the table out on the deck, somewhat away from me, on the table in which we had lunch on a few minutes ago. He seems to be writing something down as I keep a watch on him. He hasn't moved since lunch, except when he had to get his blueprints and even at that, he asked Mary to fetch them for him. Is he trying to _kill_ me with boredom? I want to leave, but he probably won't allow me as a result of last night. Ten 'o' clock curfew? What is the world coming to?

I sighed, glancing down at the book in front of me. I had randomly grabbed a book, one I had read a long time ago, and I had opened the book to read it, but have been just staring at the page for hours. I can't just sit around all day. I want to be with Harry.

Is that so wrong? I feel so free and alive when I'm with him. I don't feel stifled at all, never at all, when I'm with him. We're always laughing. Besides, if we did ever get bored, we have the Ismay incident to reflect from. There's always a laugh when Ismay's involved, especially since he is still going about, discussing the incident as if his life had been in danger. Did he expect broken china pieces, fifty feet away from him, to magically come in his direction, slicing his throat? Although that would be quite a sight, it's not possible.

And then I must wonder, what _is_ keeping me from telling my father about Harry and I? Really, nothing. He must've put two and two together by now. If not by last night, by this morning, because that little smile on his face has yet to disappear. Even during lunch, he had this smile on his face, as if he knew something I didn't.

"Antoinette, for God's sake!" I looked up from the page at my father, who had turned himself to face me. He managed a laugh. "Just go!"

"What?"

"Just go!"

"Go…go _where_?" What ever is he talking about? He gestured to the door that lead into the suite.

"Wherever you wanted to go this morning, just go." I managed a laugh. "I'm not holding you here."

"Daddy, I'm fine right here." What did I just say? Did those words actually come out of my mouth? My mother has corrupted me.

"You've been reading that page for the past forty-five minutes." I glanced down at the book in my hand before shrugging.

"I want to absorb it."

"Ann, just go be with him." I shut the book and placed it down on the ground beside me, folding my hands. "You obviously don't want to be here."

"Dad, that's not true—" He laughed.

"Frankly, I don't blame you. Ann, it's beautiful outside, enjoy yourself." He paused, smiling at me. "You know, it didn't make much sense to me before. Now, it does." Okay, I am now _officially_ puzzled. "You met _him_."

"_Him_?" I asked with a raised eyebrow. Oh no, is he talking about…Harry?

"Harold Lowe." I almost fell over. So, he did put two and two together! The service stares had to be the cue for him that something was going on. At least I don't have to write it down and send it to him, it's about time he figured it out. My mother would shame him if it took him this long to figure this out.

My father smiled. "You met him and you changed." He shook his head, throwing his pencil onto the table on top of the blueprints. "I could never be sure what was wrong and now, you're back."

"Where did I go?"

"You actually listened to your mother, first and foremost. That's not like you, Ann. You are very stubborn when you want something your way." He smiled. "Either way, stay in high spirits, would you?"

"Sure. I can do that." I stood up from my chair.

"Do you care for him?" he asked me suddenly. Okay, I knew that was coming. I turned to face him and walking towards the table, I nodded. "I figured." He cleared his throat. "Does he care for you?" He loves me. "I thought so." He smiled, taking the hand I had been leaning on the table with, squeezing it. "It's wonderful, Antoinette. Go on and spend some time with him."

"Are you _sure_?"

"Absolutely positive." He paused. "Just be back before ten, would you? Any later than eleven, I will send those officers out to find you—even if they have to drag you…" He smiled.

"You don't care about dinner?" I asked skeptically. That's a social gathering right there. He shrugged.

"No. I might miss out on it myself. A little change could never hurt anyone, could it? Besides, I can't hear Ismay discuss the china incident any longer. Whoever did it is never going to confess since he threatened to chain them to a pipe." I managed a hesitant laugh myself. If he only knew…One revelation at a time, I think. Any more today, he may keel over. "Ann."

"What?"

"Just realize that no matter how old you may get, you're still my little girl." He's going to walk down memory lane right now, because of Harry.

"Dad, nothing's going to change," I attempted to reassure him. "I'm still here." He nodded, squeezing my hand once more.

"I know you are, darling. Now, go on. Have some fun for me, okay?" I nodded, hugging him tightly.

"I will," I promised, kissing him on the cheek. "Oh, Dad, you're the best!" And with that, I left my father with his blueprints and am now on the search for Harold Lowe—who may just be the love of my young life.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

I had to have walked up and down this deck for what feels like hours, with no sign of Harry. Where could he be? The ship is only so big, where could he possibly be? I passed the crew's area once more, for the hundredth time, but stopped. With a tea cup in his hand stands woman-less Will, his back to me, talking to another officer who was steering the ship. "Will!" He turned around, and seeing me, managed a smile. It's nice to know he _doesn't_ hate me. He said something I couldn't quite make out to the other officer and made his way towards me.

"Antoinette! How are you?"

"Recovering from you winning at poker," I laughed. "Have you seen Harry?" His bright eyes faded and he hesitated momentarily before nodding.

"Uh, yes. He's been looking for you, actually." He smiled. "Are you two playing tag?"

"Sort of. When did you last see him?"

"Well…" His voice trailed off as he gestured over my shoulder, down the deck to my left. "He was sitting on one of the deck chairs for a little time there. I haven't seen him since."

"Oh." I sighed. "Well, if you see him, let him know I'm out and about on the deck."

"Will do." He stopped. "Oh, before I forget—are you coming for…" He lowered his voice. "Cards tonight?"

"Same time tonight?"

"Yes."

"Blackjack night, right?" He nodded. "Definitely. It was fun being cramped in a room with a bunch of officers and the Marconi operator." He smiled.

"Well, I'll see you, then." He turned, but I grabbed his arm, stopping him.

"Will, wait." He raised an eyebrow at me.

"Yes?" I need to ask. It sound silly, but that's how I feel right about now.

"I hope I didn't make you think—" He shook his head, causing me to shut my mouth.

"No, no." He's blatantly lying.

"Oh, Will, come now. We're adults, aren't we?" I managed a smile as he brought his eyes back to me. "I'm sorry if I led you on."

"I should've noticed," he said, with a shrug. "Harry and you are perfect for each other. It just took me a long time to see it, realize it." He still had that glimmer of hope, didn't he? I can't believe I crushed him. I didn't even know it. I had been so wrapped up in my own little fairytale that I had forgotten what was happening to the people around me.

I have to admit, I've grown quite fond of Will. He's a sweetheart, he really is. All of the officers on Titanic don't seem to have a problem dealing with me—Then again, it could all be an act. I _am_ the Master Shipbuilder's daughter, after all. I really think that if something ever happened to me, these men would be there for me. If nothing else, Harry and Will would be there.

"I'm happy for you, Antoinette," he said sincerely. "I have no doubts that Harry and you will be together." I raised an eyebrow at him. He _already _gave up? What if I was some society woman who just traded men in as if they were cards in a poker game? My mother would disown me if I ever did that…trade men in as if they were cards, but he doesn't now! _"Women stay dedicated to their men. They agree with them even when they're wrong. That's our role, Antoinette. As women, that's what we're here to do."_ According to her, women were put on this Earth to reproduce and be arm candy. I think she's wrong!

But, getting back to the point, how does Will know me that well, that he knows Harry is automatically _the one_? I barely know myself! I just met both of them. But, I think Harry is _the one_. Everyone must see it, even though I am practically blind to it all.

"Friends?" I asked, somewhat calling for a truce.

"Of course." He smiled. "I do care about you, Antoinette. Nothing could change that." Whatever he says, I believe, at this point. "If Harry does anything inappropriate, you come tell me and I'll take care of it. Okay?" He stopped himself and then bursted out laughing. I giggled.

"Sure. He's a gentleman, though, Will." I paused. "Poker aside, that is."

"Mr. Murdoch?" We both turned in the direction of the voice and another lower-class officer (I merely know this because of his attire) was standing there with a note in his hand. "Could I possibly speak with you for a moment?"

"Sure." Will turned to me, gesturing over his shoulder. "I'm sorry, I've got to—"

"Don't worry about it." He has a job, after all. "See you tonight." That sparkle in his eyes, that I had seen when I had first met him that night when I was watching the whole charade at dinner, had reappeared. I just noticed it when he smiled at me.

"Yes, tonight." He brushed past me and back to where he belonged and I continued on my trek to find Harry. It honestly was frivolous. I keep practically knocking down complete strangers, not looking where I'm going, just keeping my eyes peeled for Harry. I sighed after minutes of no luck. Shoot.

I sighed again, brushing hair out of my eyes from the proceeding wind. I know I can't stay out here on deck for hours. Ismay could come walking down the deck at any moment and then, I'd be forced to keep a straight face as he retold the china incident for the _hundredth_ time. Knowing me, I'd tell him it was Harry and I. Then, it would be me chained to a pipe. I took a seat on one of the deck chairs that were looking over at the sea and rested my hand in my palm. Yes, I don't look like a lady…but, do I care? Not, really.

"Guess who?" asked a familiar voice, covering my eyes with his hands.

"Hi, Harry," I laughed, taking his hands and turning to face him.

"Hello, Love." He sat down opposite me on another deck chair. "I see you managed to escape." I nodded.

"Did you think of anything we could do?" I asked.

"Well, no." He laughed.

"Ismay hasn't been around," I noted aloud, looking down to the left and right of the deck.

"Oh, he's been around," he reassured me. "Tailing the officers and the Captain is becoming a hobby for him."

"I believe it." He's still trying to recover from not having brandy last night, I bet.

"How about a game?" he suggested.

"Another game? How many games—"

"This one actually involves some thought."

"Like poker?" He laughed, shaking his head.

"Not, really. Yet another officer's game."

"Does anybody actually do their job on this ship?" I questioned with a laugh. "You have too much time to be thinking up games!"

"This game was invented by Lightoller—who as we all know…Is a higher officer than me, which means he stands around more than I do, having time to contemplate these things." He smiled as I attempted to hide my laughter behind my hand.

"Alright, what are the rules?"

"Well, we pick a person and make up their life story." I raised an eyebrow.

"That's it?" I asked skeptically.

"Yeah, that's it." He gestured to an older man. Oh, wait, that's John Jacob Astor and his little wife—who could really be his daughter.

"Out of all the people on this ship, why him?" I hissed into his ear. "He's the richest man on this ship!" I paused. "Supposedly."

"Oh, he is," Harry concluded. "Now, his life story…"

"Well…" I bit my lip in thought. "He was born in a corn field, surrounded by cows." Harry started laughing immediately.

"In the middle of Kansas," he inserted. That's when I started laughing.

"…He tried to sell the cows for a few mere coins, and then his parents, but nobody wanted anything from him. He made wreaths out of wheat and sold them on the side of the road for five cents, because he was starving…"

"Five cents? That's expensive for a wreath!"

"Well, he made some to use as a door decoration and he made some that you could put on your head, as a decoration for yourself." I stopped. "It was a labor of love." We both began laughing again—Oh, how can anyone _not_ notice we're laughing hysterically?

"He finally managed to make enough money to buy some bread," Harry continued, "but the bread was weeks old and he instead used the bread as a saw to make a new fence for his field and cows."

"But how did he make his millions?" I questioned.

"He opened a factory of wreaths. Then, he managed to meet the family all thirty miles down the road from his farm and he met his wife." He gestured to the girl, with her arm locked in his. "Her parents sold her off for a few dollars and then, they were able to buy some cheese."

"_Cheese_?" I asked, wiping my eyes from oncoming laughter. He nodded.

"Cheese," he replied with a nod.

"Well, well, well, Miss Andrews," said a pompous voice. I turned and there was Ismay, dressed of course, in his finest—his hat in his hand. What a killjoy! "Nice to see you." He eyed me up and down a few times and I shot a look of desperation at Harry.

"Hello, Mr. Ismay," I managed to say. He smiled, taking a step towards me before taking my hand. He kissed it and I swear to you, I contemplated pushing him overboard.

"Pleasure to see you again," he said with that creepy smile, yet again eyeing me. I tried to get my hand out of his grip, but wasn't able to slip my fingers out of his greasy grasp.

"Hello, Mr. Ismay," Harry intervened, standing up and holding out his hand for Ismay. He hesitated but let go of my hand to shake Harry's. Thank you, Harry. "Great weather we're having, isn't it?" Ismay nodded as they dropped hands.

"Yes, yes, wonderful weather. A little chilly, but, otherwise, fantastic weather." He paused. "I know I haven't seen either of you for quite some time, have you heard about the china?" I managed _not_ to groan.

"Yes, we have," Harry said with a nod.

"Good. As you well know, there were two people in the dining area after hours and they broke some beautiful, _expensive_ china. Thankfully, none of the tea they were having stained the piano keys, but the carpet is going to need to be replaced." I highly doubt that! We drank almost all of our tea that night. What a lying, scumbag…

"That's too bad," I said, standing up from my seat.

"Well, whoever did this, Miss Andrews, I will get them and make sure they pay the due punishment. Even if I have to chain them to a pipe—"

"Isn't that a tad harsh?" Harry asked nervously, fixing his cuff links.

"That was White Star Line property," Ismay said, as if that made all the difference in the world. "No punishment is harsh enough for ruining property of this company." I glanced up at Harry, begging him with my eyes to make this grease ball go away for good.

"Ann, weren't we going to meet your father?" Harry asked me suddenly, glancing at his watch. I raised an eyebrow of confusion until he looked at Ismay and then to me. Oh, I see! An escape!

"Oh yes!" I gasped, almost in shock I forgot before standing up. "I'm sorry to break up our conversation, but I shouldn't keep my father waiting. He'll get worried and…" Ismay shook his head, taking my hand once again before kissing it. Oh. I'll never get his stench off of me.

"That's alright. I suppose I'll see you tonight at dinner." Over my dead body. I forced a smile as I got my hand out of Ismay's. I hope I never have to touch him ever again.

"Yes, I _suppose_," I replied, still keeping my forced smile on my face. Ismay eyed me up and down again, but Harry took my hand, getting out from between the chairs and past Ismay.

"See you then, Miss Andrews, Officer Lowe!" he called.

"Until then," Harry replied, quickening his pace away from Ismay. We kept on walking, faster and faster, until we were practically running away from Ismay and out of his sight. We took a quick left before stopping. "Oh, that man is a grease ball!" Harry hissed at me. I nodded.

"I know, isn't he awful?"

"He kept staring at you," he observed.

"Why do you think I stay away from him?"

"I had to practically pull him off of you." I shuddered, trying not to remember the thought. "To think your father works with him at White Star Line, it makes me want to quit sailing all together." He smiled before chuckling.

"It makes me want to move out to…_Kansas._" We both started laughing.

"Do you think he has any idea?" he asked me suddenly.

"About the china?" He nodded. "Well, he's still talking about it, so I guess not."

"He may find out."

"Or he may not."

"I hope for the latter."

"Me, too." Harry took my other hand, pulling me in closer to him. "What?" I asked as silence seemed to enclose us.

"You are so _lovely_," he choked out. How many times has he told me how beautiful I am? I have to admit, I never get sick of hearing it.

"You're not that bad yourself," I smiled. He touched my cheek gently before kissing me. The kiss immediately became deeper and once we let go, I couldn't help but go in for another one. We were both giggling between the kisses and he pulled me in closer again.

"I am completely running out of compliments," he joked with another kiss.

"That's okay," I reassured him. "I don't need compliments."

"Yes, you do. You're much to be beautiful to _not _be complimented." I smiled, before shaking my head. "Do you know how much I love you?" I nodded.

"Yes, I do. But…I would like to know just how much."

"Oh, I'll tell you how much." He smiled, suddenly pulling me back to where we were when we had escaped from Ismay.

"Harry, stop!" I said, trying to stop laughing and sound serious. "What are you doing?" I questioned. He then cleared his throat.

"I LOVE THIS WOMAN!" he shouted to everyone looking out at the ocean on the deck, his voice echoing throughout the entire ship and out to sea. I covered my face in my hands, turning a beet red as everyone turned to face us. "I LOVE HER! I LOVE ANTOINETTE ANDREWS!" He then turned to me, not looking in the least embarrassed by his sudden profession of love. "And that, Antoinette, that's…how much I love you."


	20. Chapter Nineteen

"Hit me," I told Moody, who dealt me another card.

"Bust!" Bride said angrily, banging his fist onto the table as I laughed.

"I only had eleven," I said simply, showing him the cards in my hand before handing them to Moody to place back in the deck.

"Oh, come on!" he said, looking as if he was ready to bang his _head_ on the table. Sitting at a table with a bunch of officers, a mirror image of last night, why am I still winning a game I just learned how to play merely hours ago? Woman-less Will, Harry, Moody, Bride and Wilde joined us. It was Lightoller's shift a few hours ago and he had to leave, switching places with Moody. Harry has tonight off and Bride? He never works and neither does Will. I've decided that in my own mind. How can they work, if they're always playing cards? That's what I want to know! How can they work?

Of course, everyone at the table thought I wouldn't be coming, even though Will had told them I was. Lightoller had said he thought my father had locked me away in an ivory tower because of the panic I had caused the night before. They had all heard through the grapevine about the supposed _search_ party for me and all they can do is laugh whenever I ask Harry the time.

Anyhow, blackjack is much simpler than I thought it to be. Harry had been right—it isn't as difficult as poker. "As long as you can count up to twenty-one, you'll be okay," he had reassured me earlier this afternoon. I had asked him if he was sure and before there was an answer, there was kissing. I took that as a yes at the time!

But, blackjack basically consists of getting dealt two cards, usually with someone else as an opponent and whoever gets twenty-one, without going over, wins the hand. An ace can stand for eleven or one, it matters what you need it if you ever get dealt it. Now, the lingo is much easier. "Hit me" means you'll get dealt a card and "Bust" means you went over twenty-one. Easy, right? Of course, there is betting! What great card game would be without betting?

I think I'm lucky again tonight. I've been beating these officers and workers of the White Star Line for the past twenty minutes. When someone lost, I went onto the next person at the table. So far, Bride has won a few times, Moody once and Will once. Harry? Nothing. And he _taught_ me how to play!

"Alright, I surrender," Bride laughed, handing the cards back to Moody, who began to shuffle them. "I think you should become a professional card player." I laughed.

"Sure. Okay, who's next?"

"Will," Wilde replied simply, taking a puff of his cigarette. Who knew Wilde was a smoker? He doesn't look like too much of a smoker, does he? I turned to face Will, who was sitting beside me, as he was last night while Moody continued to shuffle the cards.

"Don't tell me it's a conspiracy!" I laughed at him as he shuffled a few more times. He looks extremely frustrated.

"It has to be," he said confidently.

"You're never going to think she may just be a good player?" Will asked skeptically. Moody laughed.

"She's a witch!" he joked. "Every time she plays with us, she wins."

"Not all the time," I corrected.

"But _most_ of the time," Wilde laughed as Moody handed him the cards.

"You shuffle them," he told Wilde.

"Why?"

"I think I'm unlucky." Wilde laughed as he began to shuffle the cards.

"Do you want me to deal?" he asked Moody, who nodded. "Alright, my turn." He dealt Will and I both two cards. I got a five and a three. Eight. I need quite a few more to get to twenty-one! I glanced at Will, who seemed to be doing the math in his head.

"Hit me," I instructed Wilde. Literally, I don't want him to _hit_ me, but—Oh, it's just a blackjack term! He dealt me another card. Turning it over, it's a four. Twelve. Well, I've got an okay shot at—

"Hit me," Will told the dealer. Where was I? Oh, I've got a good shot at maybe getting a smaller card, but it's highly doubtful I'll get an ace. Oh, what the Hell? I'll take the chance.

"Hit me." Another card—this time, it's another three. Sixteen. Well, I think I'll stay right here at sixteen. I really don't think the odds are with me on this, they're against me. I glanced at Will once more, who had this plain look on his face. He's a much better poker/blackjack player than me. He really has the poker face. Whenever I got a good hand last night, I was trying not to smile, but I know I was. I suppose I'm not a good liar. With cards. With people, it's another story.

"Hit me," Will repeated, getting dealt another card. He smiled.

"Hold," I said, trying not to sound sad. He then held out his cards to me. It was exactly twenty-one! "You actually beat me!" I laughed as I got a good look at the cards that were in his hand. An ace, so that was eleven, a five, a two, and a three. "That's the second time you've beaten me."

"Last night poker," he reminded me. I laughed.

"Exactly."

"See, I knew it!" Moody laughed, banging his fist on the table.

"No need to get violent," I reassured him and Harry began to laugh.

"I'm unlucky," Moody decided, nodding his head.

"No, you're not," I tried to reassure him.

"Oh, yes I am." I handed Wilde back the cards and so did Will.

"I think I'm good for now," I told him. "Let Will beat some other unknowing…" My voice trailed off as Wilde smiled.

"You got it." That's when there was the knock. Uh-oh, not another _knock on the door_. That always spells trouble! Wilde grabbed his hat hanging off the corner of an empty chair and everyone began to shove the useless coins, paperclips, miscellaneous objects, not to mention the cards into the navy hat before he threw them under the table at his feet just as the door swung open.

"Well, well, well, what have we got here?" I actually gulped. I could hear the simultaneous gulps go across the room. Ismay. I hid my head in my hands. Why did it have to be Ismay? Out of all the people on this ship, why the grease ball? "Nice to know the White Star Line is allowing you pay and pleasure at the same time."

"Mr. Ismay, I—" Will's voice trailed off as he took a quick glance at the officers at the table until he fixed his eyes on me.

"Mr. Ismay, it's too cold to stay out there all—" Ismay shook his head and Moody immediately shut his mouth.

"Well, young lady," he said, gesturing to me, "so this is where you've been running off to. Your father's looking for you."

"It's not ten yet!" What is he, my keeper? He's not my father.

"Oh, it's _extremely_ past ten, Miss Andrews." I grabbed Harry's wrist, where he wore his wristwatch and looked at the time. It is not past ten!

"It's only nine-thirty!" I argued, pointing to the watch. We began playing around seven.

"It's almost eleven-thirty," Ismay corrected, reading from his pocket watch.

"Actually," Will chimed in, clearing his throat before looking up from his own watch, "He's right."

"I thought you said your watch was right!" I yelled. Harry looked at me, completely in shock that his watch wasn't, in fact, the correct time. "It was set by one of the best jewelers!"

"It _was_ right."

"There was another search party out looking for you," Ismay continued as I sighed angrily. "Now, then I've found you, we won't have to miss our cigars and brandy…_again_." Oh, thank goodness, I wouldn't want to inflict in his perfect little world. "Now, then, come along, Miss Andrews…" He took my wrist and lifted me out of my chair.

"Hey, that hurt!" That's when Will and Harry both stood up.

"We'll take her back," Will offered. Harry looked as though he was ready to kill someone. Ismay, perhaps? "No need to hurt her, Mr. Ismay."

"Don't you touch her that way," Harry suddenly threatened. Ismay raised an eyebrow skeptically at him.

"Or you'll _what_?" he tempted, grasping my wrist merely tighter than before. He began to drag me towards the door and no matter how hard I tried to keep my feet planted to the ground, it was no use. As much as I hate to admit it, old grease ball was stronger than I'll ever be.

"Why you scum—!" Harry went for his throat, but Moody and Wilde managed to hold him back, along with Will. Ismay smirked. Now, if I ever get the chance, I am throwing him overboard.

"I suggest that you don't do anything you'll regret later." Ismay cleared his throat. "If you don't remember who I am, I am Bruce Ismay."

"Thanks for clearing that up!" I snapped. He looked over his shoulder at me and merely squeezed my wrist harder. Is he trying to break it!? Will suppressed his laughter, along with the other officers—the only ones who weren't laughing were Harry and I.

"I am the President of the White Star Line and I can assure you, if you won't allow me to take your precious friend back to where she belongs, I'll make sure everyone in this room never has a job with a respectable company like this again." Is that a threat? That's the best he could come up with? That was pathetic.

"Or I could make everyone's life a living Hell," he continued, "by making sure no one here ever works on the sea again." Everyone tensed up, even more so than before. "So, as I was saying, don't even attempt to threaten me, Officer Lowe. You are clearly in a state of delusion, thinking you can speak to me that way!" He heartily laughed. "I'm bringing her back to her father, where she belongs. I hope to never see this charade again, especially with Titanic's officers and a first-class passenger. Now, I bid you good-night, gentlemen. Come along, Miss Andrews."

He dragged me out of the room and began down the hall for the first-class suite. I glanced over his shoulder at Harry and Will, who had no idea what to do except to stand there. I think I was wrong—those two can't save their own lives, let alone mine!

Ismay's mumbling to himself as he quickened his pace down the crew's hallway. "I can't believe this! I shouldn't be babysitting Andrews' daughter! Do I look like that much of a sap? Another search party, he says, it won't take that much time, he says—I want her back, he says…Well, I've had it up to here with that shipbuilder…" I can't believe I'm listening to this man practically insult my father! We quickly passed the operator's room and there was Jack Phillips, his back to the door, tapping away. No one can even help me escape from this sobering maniac.

"We'll miss brandy again, I argued. No we won't, he said. She's my daughter, he said. Well!" He glanced over his shoulder at me vindictively, sighing heavily. "She'll come back, I said. No she won't, he said. I thought she knew, he said—"

We took a sharp right and I quickly looked over my shoulder at the hallway we had just passed through. I have no idea where we are and I now realize that Ismay is a sincere, tried and true alcoholic. He's too worried about his brandy to make coherent decisions! Who makes this drunkard president of a shipping company? Another drunkard?

Oh, dear God—why am I just following Ismay around? Have I lost my mind? Who knows where I'll wind up, because at this point, he's a very angry alcoholic—I know I probably won't end up back at my suite, where I belong. Why, oh why, did Harry's watch have to be wrong? I was fully planning on following my father's request to be back at ten. I was keeping time!

"You know, Miss Andrews, you've caused quite a stir on this ship," Ismay said, shooting me yet another look before eyeing me up and down over his shoulder. "I am glad to say this voyage is almost over."

"Can you let go of me?" I asked softly as he took a more firm grasp on my wrist. He always seems to be strangely gawking at me, why not use it to my advantage? I fluttered my eyes sweetly.

"I'm bringing you back to where you belong, so your father can call off that damn search party!"

"I'll go back, I promise," I said as he looked again over his shoulder. I smiled as sweetly as I could muster. His mean glare softened, but he shook his head.

"No, you won't. You'll go back to that lover-boy of yours." _Lover-boy_? Who is he kidding? "I'm shocked someone with such high standards, such as your father or your mother, would tolerate such reckless behavior out of their only child!"

"My mother's not on board."

"That explains much!" he huffed. "You need standards, young lady—"

"What are you, _my father_?" I asked angrily.

"I might as well be! All I do is search for you!" He gripped my wrist tighter than before, so much so that my fingers are now losing their feeling.

"Let go of me!"

"I will; Once we get to your room!"

"Let go of me NOW!" I shrieked at him.

"NO!" he yelled back at me. He cleared his throat, quickening his pace once more.

"Hey, slime-ball!" I screamed at him, as loud as I could. He stopped, so much in shock that there was a shout of name-calling that he accidentally dropped my wrist.

"What did you just call—" The moment he turned around, I punched him, before pushing up his nose with my palm. Then, I heard a crack! I punched him square in the nose, with my best hand!

He staggered away from me, clutching his nose. He gasped, clutching his nose in his hand as scarlet liquid flowed from his fingers. "You broke my nose!" he gasped, holding his nose tenderly. I attempted not to laugh. I didn't react to that.

"And by the way," I replied, "His name's _not_ Lover-Boy. It's Harold Lowe!" He scowled at me angrily.

"Why, you little—" He went for my throat, with his bloody hands, but I ducked under his arm and began to run. Run as if I had never run before in my entire life.


	21. Chapter Twenty

"WHY, YOU LITTLE BRAT!" Ismay shouted down the hallway at me. I can't stop—I have to keep running. I quickly looked over my shoulder and now, his running steps are as apparent as ever. I have to run faster! How can I possibly run any faster with these shoes on and this corset? Damn these corsets—men should be forced to wear them, too! "GET BACK HERE THIS INSTANT!"

I turned down another corridor to my right, unsure of where I was going. I'm sure Ismay has no idea of where he's going, either. My breathing seems to be uncontrollable and although the hallway in front of me seems to be a tad fuzzy, as if I'm not getting enough oxygen, I can't stop. Who knows what Ismay will do if he catches up with me. _If_ being the keyword in that sentence.

"ANTOINETTE ANDREWS!" His voice seemed to echo and ring through my ears, burning my senses, my memory, my sanity—but I kept my feet going. Before I knew it, I had reached the first-class corridor and I pushed past a younger man in a tuxedo and an older woman, who felt the need to gasp.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. I didn't look back, I can't apologize. I could hear Ismay now apologizing to her, having practically knocking her to the floor. I passed that familiar elevator operator, who I had met on the first night of the voyage.

"Need a ride?" he asked hopefully, attempting to stand.

"No thanks!" I replied, turning left down the oak stairs, towards the second-class area, the lower deck. I quickly skidded down the first set of stairs, then the second, and the third before I heard Ismay's shoes tapping against the hardwood behind me.

I thought he was allergic to people who were poor—I didn't think he would actually _follow_ me down to the lower decks. Presidents of shipping companies don't go down into the lower corridors with the rats! Or do they? They do when their name happens to be Bruce Ismay. He's too angry at me, he'll follow me to the end of the Earth at this rate. There must be blood all over the ground by now. He looks like someone who would bleed…a lot. I hope he's in pain. Am I going to go to Hell for thinking that? Oh, I can't think about that now!

I took another random right down a hallway after stopping at the foot of the last staircase that led to the first-class. I have to catch my breath and Ismay doesn't seem to be anywhere in sight. Good. I sighed, almost a breath of relief, until I heard the familiar footsteps. Grabbing my dress with my hands, I began to run down the hallway faster than before. His footsteps seem to be dying away, or are they? I'm at the end of the hallway and I now realize it's a dead end. I knew I should've went left!

I tried to open the door to my right, but it was locked. Damn it! Ismay's footsteps, if they are Ismay's, which they must likely are, seem to be getting closer. Damn it! I went for the door on my left and it opened. Thank God!

I quickly ran into the room, shutting the door behind me. Damn it, there's no lock! I can't even think about locks right now…Oh! The sound! There seems to be engines in here! Or something that is so loud, my head is automatically beginning to pound! What is that!? It's a small room and looking around, I saw a small square cut out on the floor. Orange smoke and heat seemed to be radiating from it. What is that? The sound seems to be almost coming from down there.

"GET OUT HERE AND FACE ME LIKE A MAN!" Ismay's voice seemed to fume with anger and he began to bang on the door. He would get it open and who knows what will happen if he manages to get me. He'd probably chain me a pipe for breaking his nose. At this point, if that square entrance leads to the depths of Hell, it has to be better than dealing with Bruce Ismay. I got closer to the hole and realized there was a hanging ladder. Okay, well, I can climb. I think. I brought myself down into the hole and grasping the white ladder as well as I could, I began to climb down.

"I'LL GET YOU! NOBODY GETS AWAY WITH DOING THIS TO BRUCE ISMAY!" Oh, shut up! I realized, three-fourths of the way down this ladder to Hell, that it doesn't reach the floor. I heard the door open above me and I realize I have nothing to lose at this point. I braced myself, and jumped.

Thankfully, I managed to land on both of my feet and before I had the chance to think, I quickly moved out of the view of the entryway to Hell, so Ismay wouldn't be able to see me. I found myself in the middle of a long corridor, surrounding by steam and men shoveling coal. I must in the boiler room—Titanic's Hell.

"GET BACK HERE!" Ismay shouted. I looked up at the hole, making sure he couldn't see me. He's not going to come all the way down here to get me, is he? He has no idea where he's going and I don't, either—Then again, he's out of his mind and hasn't had a good breath in minutes. He may just be out of his mind enough to follow me down here.

"What are you doing down here?" asked a heavy Irish accent angrily. I whirled around and there stood an older man, who looked as if he had been badly sunburned. "Passengers aren't allowed down here, it's dangerous—"

"ANDREWS!" Ismay shouted from above. I've got to make a run for it! He's going to come down here! Even if he is the President of the White Star Line, he's coming for me! Just like Satan himself. I pushed past the man and began to run down the corridor, making my way around the workers who stopped to see what the ruckus was about, leaning on their shovels.

"GET BACK TO WORK!" The Irish voice shouted. He must be the big man down here. Ismay can't be following me, can he? It's too dangerous to look over my shoulder to see, I could run into something. I've never been down here, but my father talked of it on that tour of the ship days ago. It eventually leads onto the deck, he had said. Is that what he said? I can't even remember!

I made it down the corridor and actually slammed myself into a white door, with a circular knob. Run much, Antoinette? I sighed. Okay, now, that door looks ship-like and unlike everything else down here that's black metal, this looks white—like the rest of Titanic. I turned the knob with a few turns, struggling all the while and the door creaked open. I looked into what seemed to be a tunnel. What have I got to lose? Picking up my dress, I walked through the tunnel, shutting the door behind me.

It's the storage area! I was worried about a storage area? Who would've thought the storage area would be all the way here, having gone through all of those rooms, through the boiler room also known as Hell? There has to be an easier way to get in here, but for now…I'm safe. I'll at least hear Ismay when he comes knocking.

Of course, there's absolutely nowhere to sit. I attempted to lift a crate to move it out of the way so I could take a five-minute break to catch my breath, but it was too heavy for me. I leaned against a stack of crates along the wall with the entryway, where I had just walked through.

I can't even catch my breath! Everything seems to be spinning. Antoinette, stop yourself, calm yourself. This only seems as bad as it is. No, no! It _is_ bad! I broke Bruce Ismay's nose—Well, I can't be so sure if I broke it, but…I think I caused some serious damage. This will definitely beat out the china incident in my book—But, it won't be talked about. Ismay will be the laughing stock of that first-class smoking room, having had his nose broken by a woman—the Master Shipbuilder's daughter, no less!

The crates seem to be trembling. I felt them and they're shaking. Well, it must be me—because I can still barely catch my breath myself and seem to be shaking. That's when I heard it. It sounded like nails on a chalkboard and the sounds were coming from my right. I turned to face the wall, stepping away from the crates. I now notice that the walls and the bolts holding them together seem to be quivering. What the—The walls were buckling in! No, they're not buckling—my mind seems to be fading. Lack of oxygen, that's all…I blinked a few times and the third time I blinked, the walls caved in.

Water began gushing into the storage area at such a high, intense pace, it threw me against the crates I had once been near and towards the rear of the room. It's so cold! Oh my God, my mind is even more numb than it had been before! It kept pulling me under, as if the salt water had a mind of its' own. I attempted to scream for help when I reached the surface, but what's the point? There was no one around, who could possibly help me?

I then slammed into a very expensive-looking car furnished with shining oak that had been hitched to the ground by some sturdy rope. Ow, that really hurt! I took in a sharp breath, before my mouth filled with salt water. I coughed it back out, almost swallowing it. That was close. That car is not going to look all that great after the water gets out of here! As the water began to rise, quicker than I expected, I know I have to get out of here. But, how?

The door! Where I had come out! I pushed myself off and away from the car, pushing against the water's current to reach the door. Salt hit my eyes and mouth and sure, it was stinging so much that I was ready to scream, but I'm too cold to care. I have to reach the door out of here. I pulled myself, using the walls of the tunnel, to get towards the door. It's not opening!

"Damn it!" I screamed. "OPEN!" I pounded on the door as I tried in vain to open it. The water slowly, but surely, continued to rise. Not that much, but enough so for me to notice. It hit my body in little waves and I'm so cold, I can't even think straight. "COME ON!" I shouted at the door. "OPEN FOR ME!" I pulled with all of my might once more and the door pushed open, with the help of the water.

I was led quite quickly out of the storage area and into the boiler room, where red lights seemed to be flashing everywhere and men were shouting to one another. Sounds of large beeping echoed through the boiler room, invading my ears. What's going on?

I pushed my way through the water—Remind me never to buy dresses this heavy when wet—and almost got knocked down by a group of men running towards a door that seemed to be quickly shutting.

"Hurry up! They're closing the doors!" I gasped. The water-tight doors! How am I going to get out of here now? Those doors, I knew they existed and they could shut, but why are they shutting? There are people down here! I can't panic. Don't panic, Antoinette, don't panic…How did you get yourself down here? The ladder. The ladder. The way I came in, it's the way I can get myself out of here.

I made my way down the long hallway as the water continued to rise. It wasn't as high here as it was in the storage area—Strange. Oh, stop making observations, Antoinette! The ladder, I need the ladder…where is it? This boiler room is so large, with so many hallways—it's almost just as complex as the damn ship itself! How can anyone manage to navigate this!?

There! There it is! I can see it clearly now, as if there was a bright light shining above it from the level above. I pushed my way through the water, the harshness of the water making my teeth chatter uncontrollably—but, with shaking hands, I reached the ladder. Oh, no! How can I possibly make it up?

Quickly looking around, I know the ladder's attached to something. I reached as high as I could on the ground to one of the ladder's bars and pushing myself against a wall, or is it a boiler, in front of me that was holding the ladder in place. I attempted to reach the next bar. I can do this—I know I can. I didn't climb trees as a child for nothing! This has to…_work_. I pushed on the wall once more and there! I'm up! Thank God! I pushed myself up with my arms before my feet hit the last bar of the ladder and I quickly began to climb.

Skidding to the surface of the level of the loud noises, I pulled myself out of the hole of Hell and managed to stand up. I leaned against the door that lead to the corridor, pushing my wet hair out of my face. Well, at least I'm wearing a coat—Like Hell, how's that going to help me _now_? It's just as wet as I am. Taking a deep breath, I turned and swung the door open. I began to run.

Down the corridors and up the necessary sets of stairs to the next level and then the next, I went. I need to get up to the first class! What's going on—Why is there water down there!? Where is everyone? The halls are completely empty! I can't be the only one who heard that screeching sound! I'm still shivering to death and although I feel numb from head to toe from the water, I can't stop now. There's something wrong, something's not right. I'm just not sure what.

I used the stairwell's handrails to pull me up when I saw the first-class area coming into view. My dress and coat, which I know I should just throw the coat to the side and forget about, are weighing me down and these heels are not helping matters now. As I hit the final step to the first-class corridor, I can see some people just coming out of their rooms, looking to and fro from the hallways. Then, they just shut their doors, as if whatever it was, it didn't matter. It matters! No matter how out of breath I am, I need to get to my father. He'll know what to do—He always knows what to do.

I took a right towards the first-class area where the elevator operator still stood. Damn it, I could've taken the elevator! Running, in my mind, seemed like a great idea at the time—I can't think when I'm cold. That's understood.

I began to check the room's numbers and as I reached the thirties, I realized I was okay. I'm okay! I made it out of that Hell hole down there. I'm not okay, though—I'm petrified. There, there. My room. I need to get to my room. I can't think about the feeling in the pit of my stomach that I have—I can't think about this feeling of dread that seems to loom over me. I banged on the room door frantically instead. Please let my father be here!

"Daddy!" I shouted through the door, banging on it even harder than before. "Dad! It's Ann!" No reply. I hope he hasn't gone looking for me—What if he was down there? What if he wasn't able to get out? No, no! Think positively, he's okay. He's fine. He's always fine.

I stuck my hands into my coat pockets for my room key and finding it, I searched through the key ring—which just _had_ to have multiple keys on it, mind you. Which key is the room key? Why can't I remember this? Shaking, I searched through key after key. There, that's it. The room number's on this gold one! It has to be it. Damn it, I can't seem to warm up now—I'm shaking too much to even attempt to put the key in the door to unlock it. I tried however, but with no success. Alright, so that's not the right key…?

"Antoinette!" My father's voice boomed down the hallway and I whirled around to see him running towards me. "Ann, Ann, where were you? Are you alright? Why are you soaking wet—" I shook my head at him.

"Daddy," I said softly, "I think something's wrong with the ship."


	22. Chapter Twenty One

"What's wrong?" my father asked me as he shut the door behind him. "Does it have something to do with that screeching sound?" Can he read minds? I nodded.

"Yes."

"Where were you when you heard it?" A little off-topic, isn't he?

"In the storage area," I responded. He raised a confused eyebrow at me, but nodded.

"Alright, alright. Thank you, Ann." Why is he _thanking_ me? He cleared his throat before calling to Mary. "Mary! Mary!" His voice rang through the suite. Mary appeared from my bedroom seconds later, looking quite startled, as if she had been taking a quick cat nap.

"Yes, sir?" she asked, almost timidly, refusing to look him in the eye, keeping her eyes on the carpet.

"I need you to help Antoinette get out of those wet clothes. Make sure she dresses warmly—It's cold out, and find her warmest coat, would you?"

"Of course, sir."

"But, Daddy…" I said to my father softly. He looked down at me, confusion etched across his face.

"It's going to be fine, honey," he reassured me, before focusing his attention back on Mary. "And hurry," he instructed.

"Yes, sir," she said and taking my hand, she began to lead me towards my bedroom as my father went for his room—out of sight. Where is he going?

"Daddy…" How could he possibly hear me? Besides the fact that he's gone now, I had spoken so softly that I could barely hear myself. Mary glanced at me, raising an eyebrow as she sort of dragged me into my bedroom, shutting the door behind us.

"What happened to you, Miss Andrews?"

"Long story," I said simply. I stood there, motionless. What was going on? Why did my father look so panic-stricken? I need to stop my mind from wandering. As I took off the dress, I seem to be in another world. Did what just happen actually _happen_? Is everything going to be alright? Of course, those watertight doors are a true Godsend! Imagine what would've happened had the doors weren't there. My father is a genius.

Mary began to tie my new corset and although it still hurts, a lot even, I can't feel anything. My fingertips and body are still numb—and I'm beginning to believe my mind is going numb, too.

"Did you fall overboard? Or even into the swimming pool?" Mary's cheerful voice pulled me out of my head as I stepped into a new, dry dress. She giggled when I didn't answer. "Miss Andrews?"

"Sort of," I lied as she began to hook the dress in the back, myself still holding onto the oak bedpost. I could suddenly hear knocking—Not on my door, mind you, but on the front door of our suite, that led to the first-class corridor. She stopped.

"I suppose I have to get that—" I heard the usual creaking of the door, that only creaks when it opens, and took Mary by the arm.

"He got it," I told her simply.

"Mr. Andrews, the Captain wishes to see you…" I can't make out the rest of what the man said, but either way, there has to be a problem. Why else would Captain Smith want to see my father? It's not like they're chummy or play cards—Unlike the rest of us first-class folk.

"Tell him I'll be there as soon as I can," he replied.

"Yes, sir." The door shut, I heard it click shut and then there was a knock on my door—just as Mary began to ring out my soggy hair.

"Antoinette? I have to go see the Captain, but I'll be back—"

"Wait, wait!" I ran for the door and swung it open. My father stood there, with his black wool coat on, Titanic's blueprints under his arm. "I'm coming with you." I don't want to leave his sight, especially with my new-found confusion about what happened below deck merely minutes ago. I want to feel safe and the only way I can feel that way is if I'm with him.

"Ann, you're soaking wet. Just stay here. You need to warm up." I shook my head. "I'll be back," he tried to reassure me. "It's for the best if you stay here." I opened my mouth to argue, but instead—I gestured to the blueprints.

"There are more blueprints than that!" As if he thinks I don't know him! "I'll carry the rest of them for you. You can't carry them all by yourself." Enticing him with an offer of being a carrier could work. He hesitated, but managed a nod.

"Alright." He sighed. "Alright." Mary pulled me back into the room, twisting the water out of my hair for the second time.

"Miss Andrews, if you'd just give me a minute, you'll be dry in no time—"

"Don't worry about it," I told her simply as I ran for my closet. I'll dry eventually, and who really cares at this point? No one else is suffering for me being in the wrong place at the wrong time—just me.

Rummaging through the closet, I can't find any coats. Well, besides the fact that the one I usually wear is now soaking wet—My mother doesn't pack for warmth, she packs for the style aspects of clothing. She needs to get a grip.

I went to the far end of the closet and there, sitting there in the darkness was a black coat. Well, it's better than nothing at this point. I ripped it off the hanger and threw it on.

"Thank you, Mary," I told her, gesturing to my dry dress. I have to learn how to be more courteous. The woman does everything for me.

"Not a problem, Miss Andrews," she replied. I glanced back at my bedroom doorway, only to find my father gone. I ran into the sitting room, looking around frantically for him. Did he already leave? No, he told me he'd wait! He's someone who would ultimately keep his word. I know that much.

"Dad!" I called out, beginning to walk towards his office. And there he is, searching through large pieces of paper protected in a bigger than life envelope that was spread across a table in the center of the room. Things were scattered on the floor: rulers, pencils and other miscellaneous objects and for the first time, I've seen the top of that particular table. One blueprint usually covers the entire table top, but not now. They were rolled up, now on the floor at my father's feet. I realize now he's searching through other blueprints.

"Antoinette, come here," he instructed in a monotone, pulling out blueprints at random from the envelope before pushing them down to the table at me. "Roll them up." Well, at least I'm making myself somewhat useful. He pulled out two or three more sketching of the ship and assisted me in rolling them up. He remained silent as we made our way into the sitting room. "Mary, we'll be back!" he called out towards the direction of my bedroom.

"Alright, sir!" she replied. He glanced down at me and at this moment in time—I'm struggling with blueprints. They're bigger than me!

"Ann, are you alright?" he asked me. "I can carry them…" I shook my head.

"No, no, I'm fine." He managed a nod and opening the door, he waited for me to exit and shut it behind us. Taking my hand, we quickly made our way down the hallway, myself trying to keep up with him. One step for him could mean three or four for me.

Now at his heels, more so than before, I can see more first-class passengers coming out of their rooms, wondering aloud about that screeching noise that they had heard. They're talking to any White Star Line official that had been roaming the halls. Granted, they're more like interrogating…Either way, I don't think anyone has a clue about what's going on, not even the ship's workers. I sure don't know what's going on.

"Excuse me," said a woman as we reached her to someone in White Star Line garb, "why have the engines stopped? I felt a shudder." The man managed a smile, shaking his head.

"I shouldn't worry, madam. We've likely thrown a propeller blade…that's the shudder you felt. May I bring you anything?" We brushed past the man and the woman, who still felt the need to talk.

"No, thank you," she replied behind us as we got farther and farther away from her. My father maneuvered his way around the corridors as if he had Titanic memorized, his hand still locked into mind, refusing to let go, no matter how far behind I ended up getting. Chattering filled the air, I now notice, buzzing around my ears, going in one ear and out the other.

"Everyone's under control…" I heard one voice say around us, but I couldn't put a face to the voice.

"Sir, there is no emergency," said another. How do they know that? How do any of us know there is no emergency?

"Dad…" He glanced over his shoulder at me. "Where are we meeting the Captain?"

"Up on deck."

"But, where?" I need specifics, if anything, just to keep my mind from wandering.

"Near the crew area." Oh, sure, that's much more specific than _up on deck_.

"What do you think the problem is?" I asked him. He didn't respond. "Daddy?"

"I don't know, honey." He paused. "I don't know." As we got outside, the cold hit me so hard, I almost fell over. It was so intense—I can't even believe my hair being just a tad bit damp could make my bones this cold. That's when I saw it. The ice.

Ice was scattered across the deck. Big blocks of ice—that look to weigh more than those crates that are probably now underwater below us, in the storage area. Other passengers, in their pajamas, were tossing the ice back and forth to one another, laughing and giggling about the fact their hands were freezing from it.

Well, maybe they should stop touching it before their hands freeze to the ice. Or maybe they should try being in that water for more than five seconds, and we'll see how much laughter there is.

"Did you see the iceberg?" I heard one male passenger ask another. An _iceberg_?

"Heard it, didn't see it."

"Apparently, it hit over there."

Titanic hit an…_iceberg_? That makes no sense! Sure, it does account for some of the screeching sounds I heard down in that freezing storage area, but an iceberg can't cause that much damage to metal. Can it?

"Dad, did we hit an iceberg?" My father looked at me, and nodded slightly.

"I think we did."

We went towards the white stairs that led to the higher level of the deck, where all of the navigation for the ship is…I think, and who came into view but Wilde, the Captain and another officer I didn't recognize.

"Mr. Andrews!" Wilde exclaimed as he began to lead the group behind him down the stairs and towards us.

"Mr. Andrews," began the officer I don't know, "Boiler room six is flooded eight feet above the plate and the mail hold is worse—She's all buckled in." They began to walk, my father in the middle of them, his hand still in mine as he pulled me across the deck. Where the Hell are we going?

"Can you shore up?" the Captain asked. What, in God's name, does _that_ mean!? The same officer shook his head.

"Not unless the pumps get ahead." Well, at least he seems to know what he's talking about.

"Have you seen the damage in the mail hold?" my father asked, bringing me to his right, in the middle of the group.

"No, she's already underwater." Well, I suppose an iceberg _can_ damage metal.


	23. Chapter Twenty Two

I followed my father into what looked to be a worker's only area, or maybe it was the Captain's work space, and he dropped my hand for the first time since we left the suite. He took the blueprints I was holding and his and spread one blue sketching out across a long table, holding it down straight with a gold paper holder that looked to be a miniature Titanic.

"Most unfortunate, Captain," Ismay's blocked voice rang through the room like a dagger. He had found us as we were making our way in here and felt the need to follow us. He's still a scumbag. He has a blood-stained cloth filled with ice to his nose and my father glanced over his shoulder at him—without saying a word. It's nice to know my little fist can cause that much damage.

"What happened to you?" asked the officer I didn't know.

"Banged my nose," he replied coolly. Well, it must've been really long—His lies are endless. I held back the sudden urge to roll my eyes.

Other officers seemed to flood into the room, one by one, just as the water had done to me in the Hell known as Titanic's boiler room and storage. The officer that knew his ship terms had followed us in here, and then Will came into view. Nobody seemed to speak as my father stared at the blueprints in front of him. Will gently touched my shoulder and I jumped.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly. "You look like you've been drenched."

"I'm okay," I reassured him as his hand dropped to his side. I looked over his shoulder and didn't see Harry. "Have you seen Harry?" Will shook his head.

"He's around," he attempted to reassure me. I managed a slight nod. I hope he's okay—I just hope he didn't go looking for me, which might have been the case. I hope he was somewhere when that iceberg hit where water didn't immediately impact him, as it did me. I'm sure he's okay, though. Think positive.

My father hesitated and then pointed to the blueprint as I leaned against the doorway of the room. "Water, fourteen feet above the keel in ten minutes, in the forepeak, in all three holds and in boiler room six," he said.

"That's right, sir," said the unnamed officer. My father shot a look at me, as if wanting me to say something.

"Was is almost completely flooded, Antoinette?" he asked me.

"It was getting there," I responded. Will glanced over at me, his eyes wide in shock.

"You were _down there _when the ship hit?" he hissed into my ear. I nodded. I am now under the assumption Titanic hit an iceberg. Nobody has told me otherwise. Ismay then sighed heavily, rolling his eyes.

"When can we get underway, damn it?" he asked, frustrated.

"Oh, shut up!" I screamed at him. The ship's sinking! We won't be going anywhere now!

"Antoinette, behave yourself!" my father's yelled, his voice trying to sound full of anger—To me, he just sounds worried. Ismay got lucky. Had my father not said I word, I would've went for his throat.

"I can always give him another broken nose," I mumbled, but I made sure I was loud enough so everyone in the room could hear. Ismay turned a deep crimson. Will tried not to smile at that, but the Captain gave me a look of shock, and then he looked happy—as if he had wanted to punch Ismay for so long, but never could. Wait, wait, back to the problem at hand!

"When can we get underway?" Ismay repeated, this time trying to hide his red face.

"That's five compartments!" my father exclaimed at him. "She can stay afloat with the first four compartments breached, but not five." He paused. "Not five." My mind went back to what he said the day of the tour, about that extra swimming pool… "As she goes down by the head, the water will spill over the tops of the bulkheads at E deck, from one to the next, back and back, there's no stopping it." The Captain then gestured to the pumps on the blueprint.

"The pumps," he said, "We open the pumps—" My father shook his head.

"The pumps buy you time, but minutes only." He stopped short. "From this moment," he said, his voice cracking, "no matter what we do, Titanic will…founder."

"But, this ship can't sink!" Bruce exclaimed. My father turned to face him.

"She's made of iron, sir. I assure you, she can, and she will. It is a mathematical certainty."

My mind flooded back to Southampton, when my father had first shown Titanic to me proudly. There was this conversation between him, Ismay and myself and once Ismay left to yell at someone, which wasn't that unusual, my father had turned to me. He told me, "The ship's made of iron, Ann. It _can_ sink. That's the frightening part." I remember this long pause from him before he had continued. "Titanic's slogan was to read, _practically_ unsinkable—the papers took out the practically part."

I gulped, my eyes welling up with tears.

My father's dreams are shattered. I had reassured him the voyage would be fine, that the maiden voyage of Titanic would go off without a single glitch. Turns out, one glitch can truly ruin everything.

"How much time?" The Captain asked him. There was this silence from my father as he stared intently at the blueprints.

"An hour," he replied hoarsely. "Two at the most." I now see out of the corner of my eye more officers approaching the doorway to the room, but none of them are Harry, all standing behind Will. The Captain cleared his throat.

"And how many aboard, Mr. Murdoch?" he asked Will. Will looked to be in a state of panic, but began to stammer.

"Two thousand, two-hundred souls on board, sir." Why did he ask that? Oh no, the lifeboats. There weren't enough for everyone. My father and I had discussed that the day before we were to board, too…My heart cracked a little bit more. Half of the people on this ship wouldn't make it to New York, would they? Even though I want to cry, I know I can't. I can't just stop myself to mourn. There will always be time for that later.

I glanced over at Will, who had the same look of shock and disbelief on his face that I did. I can't believe this. Ismay, the jerk, just had to have the ship look so beautiful, without lifeboats. I opened my mouth to ask him how many lifeboats there were, but the Captain took my lead, turning to face the President of the White Star Line.

"Well," he breathed, "I believe you may get your headlines, Mr. Ismay."


	24. Chapter Twenty Three

After everyone realized what was going to take place in merely hours, the crew went to work. My father disappeared in a matter of seconds after the Captain's comment to Ismay and I followed Will out on deck, in hopes of finding Harry. I'll catch up with my father, I always seem to find him.

It took me moments to understand that Titanic's crew was certainly a fine crew, but there weren't enough of them to uncover the boats by themselves. Sliding my coat over my hands so I wouldn't get frostbite, I began to help in the bitter cold, as much as I could.

There was shouting above the ship's noises—the noises, I really am not sure where they're coming from. "Keep lowering!" Wilde shouted to the crew. "Keep lowering!" Gears shifted to get the lifeboats dangling above the water from the side of the ship with no problems, until the first gear which was the major source of being able to lift the heavy lifeboats got jammed. I was handling the gear at the time, and it just _stopped_ turning for no apparent reason.

"It's stuck!" I yelled to Will, gesturing to the gear.

"What!?" He can't hear me.

"IT'S STUCK!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. Will turned to Wilde, who had this look on his face, a look that said he had no idea what to do. I kicked the gear, in hopes of it getting unstuck and turning properly. Nothing. Wilde bent down beside the gear and tried his best to fix it, but with no luck.

"This isn't good!" Will said to me.

"I know!" I shouted back. I turned away from the lifeboats and started to look for something that could undo the gear and make it do what it's supposed to. I looked about with no luck, my eyes falling on the bright windows of the doorway to the first-class entrance—at least, that's what the sign says. Through the windows, I can see what looks to be the entire first-class, in lifejackets. Maybe I should've grabbed a lifejacket—I never thought of it. Then, I saw it.

A fire hose wouldn't help us, but what was beside it, I know this'll work! The axe. I ran for the axe as Will tried to grab my arm, wondering where I was going, but with no luck. I brushed past him and touched the glass with the axe enclosed in it. There's no key. I sighed in frustration, covering my hand with my coat and I hit the glass. No luck. My hand bounced right back to me. Damn it.

"What in God's name, are you doing!?" Will shouted at me over the noise. I didn't answer, I can't. I unhooked the hose from its' place and slammed it against the glass case, the glass itself shattering into a million pieces. I brushed pieces of glass onto the deck, away from my body and grabbed the axe. It's so heavy! If anything should snap this gear back into place, it's the axe. "What are you doing to do!?" He shouted at me again as I went for the gear. I ignored him. I'm losing my voice now as it is, from all of the yelling I've had to do in the past ten minutes alone.

"Get out of the way!" I shouted to Wilde. He didn't hear me, or he doesn't plan on listening to me, because he didn't move. "WILDE!" He whirled around, then stood up, seeing the axe in my hand. "Move!"

He took a step to my right and I slammed the axe as hard as I could onto the gear. Not the sharp blade, mind you, just the actual blade on the side, the extremely heavy part. The gear didn't even budge when I attempted to move it with my foot. I slammed the axe down again onto the gear and it suddenly snapped back into place or whatever was holding it back from doing the desired purpose, it was done. It made the normal lowering sounds when Will turned the gear. I glanced down at the axe in my hand. It actually, miraculously worked. Thank you, God.

"It works!" he shouted at me, smiling, from the deck floor as I placed the axe back to where it belonged. As if that matters now—everything's going to be underwater soon, no matter what any of us do. I don't want to think that negatively or even think that far ahead, but I can't help it.

"Release those ties! Roll back that cover, roll back that cover, smartly now!" Wilde's voice penetrated my ears and I took a step towards an uncovered lifeboat, and threw the cover off of it, onto the deck, with all of my might.

"Mr. Wilde, where are the passengers?" My father's voice rang over the loud sounds of the ship as I whirled around. He didn't even see me, but tightly held two lifejackets in his hands, as if someone might try to steal them.

"They've all gone back inside. Too damn cold and noisy for them!"

"What about Antoinette, did she go inside, too?" Wilde then gestured to me before yelling at someone above us. "You there!" He blew his whistle, that had been extremely abused in the past ten minutes. "Get down here and help with these lines!" My father ran towards me, taking my hands.

"Let's go inside," he suggested loudly.

"But, Daddy, the boats—" Will turned to face both of us.

"Go on!" he shouted at me, pointing to the first-class entrance. I hesitated. What about Harry? Will must've seen the look on my face, for he said, "If I see him, I'll tell him you're inside, I promise!" I nodded. My father tugged on my hands.

"They're trained to do this, Ann!" he tried to reassure me, beginning to drag me into the first-class area. I glanced over at Will, then my father, shaking my head at him.

"Wait, wait!" I let go of his hands, after a moment of struggle on his part and wrapped my arms around Will into a hug. In case I don't see him—I want to say good-bye. Am I being over the top? No, no, I'm not! The ship _will_ sink. That's the frightening part. I want to at least make sure he knows I care.

He didn't know what do, I think, because he just stood there, in the middle of the freezing cold. He then hugged me back. As I let go of the embrace, I know realize how confused he is. I kissed him on the cheek and he completely turned tomato red, touching his cheek.

"What was that for?" he asked, almost in a daze.

"In case I don't see you," I managed to say above the noises. "Good luck."

"…Take care of yourself, Antoinette." I nodded.

"I will. You, too." My father then took my hand, tugging on my arm towards the first-class entryway. My feet, which felt as if they were attached to the deck, finally obliged. I glanced back at the officers for one brief moment, Will looked as if he was ready to cry, before my father pulled me into the warm indoors. I know I'll see them again. I have to. I then turned to my father, who silently checked his watch, looking around us and then to the windows outside.

"How much time left?" I asked him softly, looking around the room.

"Enough." He then stuffed the pocket watch back into his pocket, handing me one of the two lifejackets he had secured.

"How do you put these on?" I asked him. I have no idea where my head goes through. I turned it up and sideways, unsure of what I'm doing. He managed a laugh—In the midst of all of this confusion and all the people idling around us, he's laughing. Why, I don't know.

"Here, I'll help you. Take off your coat." I slipped the coat off of my shoulders as my father put the lifejacket on over my head and quickly tied it in front. "There. It's not too loose, is it?" I feel like a marshmallow, but a very secure marshmallow.

"No, it's perfect." He helped me back on with my coat and I buttoned it back up. I began to search the room as my father put on his own lifejacket, throwing his coat onto a nearby chair. Everyone looks so calm—They have no idea of what's in store. To top everything else off, the chattering of the passengers aside, the band was playing great music. Great as in happy music. Don't they know? Aren't they part of the crew—Are they not informed of this information? Who's going to tell everyone?

"Ann." I turned back to my father as he threw his coat back on.

"They have no idea, do they?" I asked him, refusing to look him in the eye.

"No, not yet." He took my arm. "Antoinette." He shook his head. "You can't tell anyone about what you know. Do you understand?"

"But—"

"No buts. You can't be responsible for a panic." He lowered his voice. "Everyone will panic, anyway—In due time. Let's try to keep everyone calm for now." Things will get out of hand, I know, eventually.

"But, Daddy, we'd be lying—"

"We're not lying," he corrected. "They'll figure it out."

"But, the lifeboats—"

"I'm sure the Captain knows what he's going to do," he tried to reassure me. "They should begin loading passengers into the boats in a few minutes. Once they do, I'm placing you on a lifeboat."

"What?" He can't be serious!

"Ann, you need to get off this ship." I looked around me. …Still no sight of Harry. "Ann, look at me." He placed his hands on my shoulders. "Before all of the lifeboats are gone, you are getting out of here. Do you understand me?" I managed a slight nod as he dropped his arms to his sides. I think he's serious. No, I know he's serious.

Suddenly, there was a high-pitched whistle that echoed across the room and everyone stopped what they were doing, and turned in the direction of the noise. There stands Wilde, that damn whistle in his hand. I plan on shoving that whistle down his throat.

"We need everyone out on deck!" he yelled. "Right now! Hurry up now, no time to lose!" He's got that right. People began to group together, making their way towards the entrance where Wilde had came in, following him to the outdoors. I watched in slow motion as the passengers, now outside, blocked the view of the windows—the same windows where I could once see the lifeboats and the officers, was now blocked by white. The lifejackets.

"Ann, come now, you should be one of the first—" My father took my hand, trying to lead me towards the door to the outside, but I shook my head.

"Dad, no!"

"Antoinette, don't argue with me on this—This is no time to disagree!" I sighed.

"No, you don't understand—"

"Understand _what_?" he pressed.

"I'm not leaving until I see Harry." He stopped, dropping my hands, staring at me straight in the eye.

"Ann, you can't wait here. Not for him, not for anyone." He lowered his voice. "The ship is sinking and once the boats are filled and lowered, that's it—"

"I know it sounds totally inappropriate and insane, but I want to see him." I paused. "If he doesn't make it out of here, I at least know I got to say good-bye." Did I just _say_ that? I'm willing to say anything to convince my father to let me stay on this hunk of iron for a few more minutes.

"You really care for him, don't you?" he asked me quietly. I nodded.

"Daddy…" I sighed at him. He'll never understand, if I tell him, will he? "I love him." He took in a sharp breath, before managing a nod.

"I'm sure he loves you, too," he said softly. He paused, looking down at the floor before locking his eyes on me. "Alright, then." He paused. "We'll give him a few more minutes. If he doesn't come…" His voice trailed off.

"I'll get on a boat," I promised aloud. But, I know I'll find him. He'll find me, one way or another. He has to find me. I know he'll find me, he has to. I need to tell him how much I really love him. "But…what are we going to do until then?" I asked.

"We're going to make sure everyone is where they should be." With that, he took my hand and began to lead me towards the Grand Staircase.


	25. Chapter Twenty Four

"Anyone in here?" I shouted into a somewhat empty first-class suite. Nothing. I kept the door open and continued down the hallway, my father merely a few feet away from me, checking the rooms on the left. I'm checking the rooms on the right. Somehow, I had been convinced to help my father make sure everyone was where they should be—out of their rooms, wearing lifejackets, and up on deck. I think this was somewhat of a way to insure them a lifeboat and a way off of the ship. Then again, I can't be sure of anything right now.

"Steward, check the starboard corridor!" I heard my father tell, obviously, a steward.

"Yes, Mr. Andrews," was the only reply I heard. I glanced over my shoulder at him as I opened up another door, the second to last in this hallway.

"Anyone here?" I called in, my voice echoing. Lights were still on in this room, but it seemed to be empty. There was no response.

"Madam, please," I suddenly heard my father beg to some woman, "Put on a lifebelt, get to the boat deck immediately." I watched out of the corner of my eye as the woman eyed him, as if she didn't believe the urgency in his voice, as she slid on her gloves. Society women. He then opened the door to our room. I stopped short, standing in the doorway of the empty room. "Mary, for God's sake, put on a lifebelt and set a good example."

"Yes, sir," she said, running back into the room. At least she'll make it out of here. I can't say the same for everyone else aboard. I sighed, rubbing my eyes. I _cannot_ believe this. I made my way to the last door on my right before I hit the next hallway and swung the door open.

"Anyone in here?" I yelled. There was no response. Everyone's been out of their rooms so far. At least they can take a hint. I turned to my father. "I suppose I'm going to start down here…" I told him, gesturing to the other hallway.

"Ann—" He wants me on a lifeboat, I know. He's given Harry ample time and he hasn't shown up yet. I won't cry, I won't.

"This last hallway and I'll go," I lied. I began to walk away from the last room until I heard something. What was that? It sounded like someone was in there. But, I had asked if there was anyone there, and no one had responded! I backed up towards the door and cleared my throat. "Anyone here?" I called out once more. That's when I heard the crying. The muffled sobs.

I ran into the room and followed the voice into a bedroom off to the left of the sitting room. In the corner of the room, beside the bed, looked to be a young child, I can't tell if it's a boy or a girl because their head's down, away from me—clutching a white stuffed animal. I began to panic. What am I supposed to do?

Get him to a lifeboat! That's what you're supposed to do, Antoinette! That's what you're here for, to help. I hesitantly made my way over to the bed and the little person who had sounded so loud looked up at me. A little boy.

"Hi, sweetheart," I said gently, leaning down to face him. He burst into tears even harder than before, throwing himself at me, wrapping his arms around my neck. "Oh, it's alright—You're okay…" What am I supposed to _do_? Where's my father when I need him? I glanced over my shoulder at the sitting room, which leads out into the hallway. Where is he? I hugged the little boy tightly, unsure of what else to do, as he held onto me, including that stuffed animal—which turned out to be a white polar bear. "Oh, honey, where are your parents?" I asked him gently.

"I. Don't. Know!" he managed to choke out between his tears.

"Well, everything's going to be alright, I promise." I looked around the bedroom frantically, searching for the closet. That's where all of the lifejackets are stored. Even with my horrible eyesight, I don't see any there. Please, let there be some there! There aren't. Oh, no. "We'll get you onto a lifeboat…" I promised, lifting him up off the ground and into my arms. He held onto me, tighter than before as I went for the closet. I balanced him on one hip as I lifted my free arm above the closet. Just like I thought. No lifejackets. "Alright, alright, baby…" I said softly, trying to soothe him, now holding him with both of my arms. Thank God he isn't heavy.

I can't believe there's a first-class little boy left here to wither! What kind of a parent would do that? I merely know he's first class because of his attire. No second-class child would be wearing silk pajamas. Of course, class doesn't matter! What am I saying? Everyone on this ship is important!

I made my way into the sitting room and out into the hallway. My arms feel as though they are about to cave in. I don't want to drop him. "I'm going to put you down, alright, sweetheart?" He squeezed my neck even tighter, holding on for dear life.

"Don't leave," he begged into my ear. Where's my father? I looked up and down the hallway for him, but I can't seem to find him.

"I'm not going to leave," I said confidently. "I don't want to drop you!"

"You promise you won't leave?"

"I promise." He slowly but surely released my neck and me from his grasp and I placed him on the carpeted floor of the first-class hallway. He needs a lifejacket. I threw off my coat and untied my lifejacket, pulling it over my head and off of me. He may need it more than me. I can, at least, swim if I have to. I hope I don't. "What's your name?" I asked him, holding the lifejacket between my fingers.

"Steven," he replied softly.

"Alright, Steven, I'm going to put this on you and we're going to go up to the deck, alright?" I told him placing the lifejacket over his head. Okay, so it's a little big—Nothing's perfect.

"What are we going to do then?" he asked between his sniffles. I pulled out a handkerchief from my coat pocket, still on the ground, wiping his eyes and nose before throwing it to my side.

"We're going to put you on a lifeboat, little guy," I said, bringing the two front parts of the lifejacket together as tightly as I could and double-knotted it.

"Why?" His wet eyes gleamed at me. I know I can't lie to him—He'll see the ship go down if he's on a lifeboat. I'm not a good liar. Why can't I be a good liar?

"Because the ship…" My voice trailed off. "It isn't safe for little boys, anymore." Or anyone for that matter.

"ANTOINETTE!" I stood up immediately, whirling around to see where the voice was coming from. Harry! Thank God! He ran towards me, jumped over my coat and hugged me instinctively, kissing me on the cheek. There was this long silence and he was squeezing me so tightly, I'm beginning to see stars.

"Harry," I managed to choke out.

"Yes, Love?"

"You're depriving me of oxygen." He glanced down at me, letting go of the embrace before managing a laugh as I picked up my coat.

"Oh." He gestured around us as I threw my coat on. "What's going on? People are getting lowered into lifeboats—" Steven tugged on Harry's pant leg.

"Didn't you hear?" he asked Harry. "She said it wasn't safe anymore." I glanced around us, realizing no one else was around.

"What isn't safe anymore?" He glanced up from Steven to me.

"Harry, Titanic…" I lowered my voice. "We're…sinking." He stared at me, his forehead burrowed in confusion.

"What?" he asked in disbelief. Is he _kidding_ me?

"Where have you been!?" I exclaimed suddenly. "Did you just come back from the dead!?"

"Nobody woke me up!" I sighed, shaking my head. "I sleep soundly, Antoinette."

"Harry, we hit an iceberg," I said in a serious tone. "The ship is sinking_—right now_." He stopped, and I swear to you, the lights flickered. Then again, it could just be the corset.

"Right now?" he asked, still in disbelief, looking around us. I nodded. "Oh. My. God." He suddenly gestured to me and Steven. "Dear God, we need to get you on a lifeboat! And him, too!"

"I was looking for you!" I stopped myself, merely because I'm ready to burst into tears. Before I knew it, I found myself in the warmth of Harry's arms again. I think I threw myself at him. "I wasn't going to leave without saying good-bye to you," I said into his ear. "I love you too much to leave without saying good-bye."

"Oh, Antoinette…I love you, too, so much…" His voice trailed off, before kissing me on the cheek again. "I thought you were going to look like a wet sewer rat!" Wow, that's _love_. In the middle of a crisis, he has to talk about my appearance, of all things?

"What—?" Did the man I love just call me a _sewer rat_?

"Will said you looked so disheveled when I asked him how you were and…"

"He exaggerates?" I asked in fake shock, with a slight smile. I let go of the hug, even though I want to hug him again, and allowed my arms to fall to my sides. Steven automatically took my hand. "What happened to me is a long story, one that we can talk about later." I eyed Steven and then Harry. No need to discuss violence right now—especially with a vulnerable little boy in the picture.

"Ann!" Yet another voice? I turned and there was my father, coming from the other hallway. He stopped himself when he saw Harry and sighed a breath of relief. At least, I think it was relief.

"I found one person who seems to have been overlooked," I told him, holding up my hand, which Steven squeezed even tighter than before. My father glanced down at him, and then to me. "Steven, this is my father—Thomas Andrews." Steven's eyes seemed to light up and he smiled at him. I think he knows who my father is. "We need to get him on a lifeboat," I said aloud to both of them. My father stifled a nod.

"Yes, we do," he said. "And _you_ need to get on one, also, Antoinette." I stopped myself from telling him no, but I realize he held up his end of the bargain. He let me stay on the ship long enough to see Harry. Before, I told him I couldn't possibly leave without seeing Harry. Now, I merely _don't_ want to leave him or my father behind. Who knows what chaos was occurring on the deck above us. I managed a slight nod at my father, blinking back my tears.

"He's right," Harry concluded, who now looks just as upset as Steven did when I first found him—Only now, there's no one to comfort him. "You need to get on a boat right away." I'm going to be gone, nobody will be here for either my father or Harry.

"I know," I said softly. There was this eerie silence…footsteps and some mild creaking from Titanic made the only noise for what felt like hours as all four of us stood in the ship's hallway. I know, in reality, it's only been seconds. I took a deep breath, glancing at Harry and then my father. I held back my tears, with more willpower than I thought possible. "I know."


	26. Chapter Twenty Five

We struggled to get through the hoards of people now on deck, all seeming to crowd together in particular places. I notice now that everyone's near lifeboats that are being filled and ready to be lowered. My father was behind Harry, Steven and I, Steven's hand still clutched in mine. I really have no idea where we're going. The ship's band is playing very cheery music—I suppose not to cause any undue panic.

"Where are we going?" I asked Harry over the crowd, who had decided to take the lead in our little group. I don't think he could hear me. He pushed through some people in their lifejackets, his hand in mine, Steven behind me and my father behind him.

"CHARLES!" Harry's voice rang above everyone else's on deck as he pushed his way to the front of the crowd, where Lightoller was trying to fill a lifeboat. There aren't any men on the boat, I realize. Looking around to get my barrings, the boats were getting low in supply and the reality is now setting in that there won't be enough…for everyone here. The boat even Lightoller's trying to fill is practically full.

"Harry, it's too full!" I said to him, tugging on his hand. "We'll go down and look for another—"

"Harold, it's only women and children for the time being," Lightoller explained. "She's going to have to wait for the next one—"

"No, no, it's not for me," I explained, "think you have any more room for this little guy?" I gestured to Steven. Lightoller looked over his shoulder at the practically bursting lifeboat, but managed a nod as I was shoved by someone behind me. I'm sure it was accidental.

"Yes, yes, of course," he replied. He then turned to the waiting passengers, all looking to be confused and almost dazzled. "Gentlemen, step back! Women and children for the time being!" he shouted at them as he attempted to take Steven's hand. "Come now, we'll get you on a boat—" He hid behind me, frightened.

"I can put him on," I said, trying to be helpful.

"Ann, I'm going to start looking down the other side," my father said into my ear. "I'll come back for you." I nodded, turning back to Lightoller.

"Alright, you can ease him on," he agreed, with a nod and led me towards the lifeboat, seemingly filled to the brim with passengers. I leaned down to face Steven, getting his hand out of mine. "Steven, you are going to get on this lifeboat and you're going to be a good boy, okay?"

"You're not coming?" he asked softly, his eyes welling up with tears.

"There's not enough room for me." I looked back at the lifeboat and saw that a few other officers, none I recognized, were trying to keep people seated and were anxiously awaiting Lightoller's command. "Those officers are going to take good care of you." Lightoller knelt down beside me.

"We need to hurry," he whispered into my ear.

"This officer," I said, gesturing to Lightoller, "is going to put you on the boat and then, you're going to be fine, okay?" He didn't even seem to hear me.

"What about you?"

"I'm going to get on the next boat," I lied, kissing him on the forehead. Who knows what boat I'll end up on—I hope I don't end up on one at all. "You're going to be a good boy. Promise me."

"I promise." Lightoller scooped him up from the deck and handed him to another officer on the lifeboat. He sat him down and then Steven looked at me, terror in his eyes. "Teddy!" He said, pointing to the polar bear in my hand. How did that end up in my possession? "I want Teddy!" I was about to hand him the bear when Lightoller took my wrist.

"We have no room for it!" he yelled above the noise, taking the bear from me. I looked at the lifeboat and Steven looked as though he was ready to start sobbing.

"Oh, for God's sake, give the kid the damn bear!" I snapped at him. "It's not luggage, just give it to him!" He stepped back, startled, before handing the bear to Steven on the boat. He squealed excitedly, hugging the bear. "Hold onto him!" I instructed, as Lightoller turned to the crew still on deck, who were manning the lines that lowered the boats.

"Lower it away, left and right together!" Lightoller shouted as the lifeboat, slowly but surely, began to creep its' way down into the North Atlantic.

"Good-bye, Steven," I said to him, blowing him a kiss.

"Good-bye, Miss Andrews!" he replied, waving. He has no idea about what he's going to see. I watched, Harry beside me, the boat go down until it was almost out of sight. He then took my hand, pulling me back into the crowd before Lightoller had to. He managed to push me through the crowd and out of it as we came towards a wall, away from the mass confusion.

"Did he come back?" I asked him. My father. Harry shook his head.

"No, but we'll find him," he reassured me. "Come on, we need to catch a boat while it's still somewhat empty." We took a right and zigzagged through the people, Harry bobbing his head over the crowd every few moments to see if there was a loading lifeboat I could possibly get on.

"Antoinette!" My father came running towards us as Harry stopped our little trek of finding a way to escape. "This lifeboat, right here!" He gestured to the crowd to our right. "Mr. Wilde's loading it. He's almost full, though, we've got to get you on—"

"Perfect," Harry replied to him as we began to shove our way towards the front of the crowd. I could see Wilde loading women into the boats, yelling at the men to step back to allow the women to come through.

Harry stood behind me, his fingers intertwined with mine, my father at my right, watching as Wilde continued to load the women in front of me. I could hear shouting everywhere. I can't shut off my ears, or any of my senses, but even with the cheery music playing in the background, the sense of dread began to linger in the air all around me.

"Men, step back!" Wilde shouted over us. "Let the women through!" Oh my God. How can I possibly leave the most important men in my life? My father or Harold Lowe?

Harry, at least, has a good shot of getting on a lifeboat, I now realize, because someone has to be on one of the boats to make sure everything and everyone was alright. Am I correct on that account? But, my father…Would he possibly get on a lifeboat? Probably not. He's too noble. I know him too well. I want him on a lifeboat, though! He just _has_ to get on one before it's too late.

"Harry," I decided, almost inaudibly over my shoulder, "I can't…_leave_ you here."

"Antoinette, please, don't do this…" he silently begged. My father suddenly took a step towards me, looking as though he was ready to burst into tears. Seeing me shiver, my hair still being damp, he slipped off his black wool coat and wrapped it around me without saying a single word. I glanced back at Harry, unsure of what my father was doing. I let go of his hand to put the coat on properly before my father cleared his throat.

"You're to be a good girl, Antoinette," he said softly. "Can you do that for me?" I managed a nod as he hugged me tightly, kissing my cheek. He's saying _good-bye_ isn't he? "Harry will take good care of you." I glanced at Harry, in his usual uniform, who was trying not to cry. I had never seen the fear in his eyes that I see now. "He'll meet up with you when you arrive in New York, won't you, Harry?" He nodded at my father. He looks as if he isn't sure about what to believe.

"Yes, Mr. Andrews," was all he could manage to say. I must've looked so doubtful, because my father nodded at me.

"I'll make sure they put him on a boat, Ann," my father promised. "I promise you." Harry looked as if he was somewhat relieved at that. I took in a sharp breath.

"What about you?" I asked him, tears beginning to trickle down my cheeks.

"I'll get on a boat," he attempted to reassure me. He's lying. I know he is. He had that tone in his voice, that tone that made me sure he was lying. He managed a smile, wiping my tears away. "Don't cry, sweetheart. I love you." He _is_ saying good-bye.

"I love you—" Just as I was about to turn to Harry, Officer Wilde suddenly pulled me back, near the rim of Titanic, towards the almost-loaded lifeboat, away from my father and Harry. I never _truly_ got to say good-bye to either of them. I never got to say good-bye to my father or Harold Lowe, the true love of my life.

"Come along, Miss Andrews," he said in a tone I had never heard out of him before, trying to be calm and collective amongst all the panic. I climbed into the boat and someone took my hand. I glanced over my shoulder and it's my father. He squeezed my hand lovingly, as if for the last time. "I'm sorry, Mr. Andrews," Wilde said suddenly, pushing my father back and out of my grip. "Clear the rail!"

The officer on the boat, who I've never met, sat me down as Wilde began to direct on how to lower us down. I glanced around the boat, and the women around me just were sobbing uncontrollably. I seem to be the calmest one. That's not comforting.

"Left and right together!" Wilde shouted to two people on the Titanic and they began to ship us down into the cold North Atlantic. I can't help but keep my eyes locked on my father and Harry, and they both looked as if they were crying. Fireworks, that I had never noticed before, but must have been flying into the sky, continued to go up into the air, but no one was around to save us. I blinked back my tears. Of course, I know the statistics of the people verses the lifeboat quota for Titanic, it wasn't all that difficult to figure out—and I know that so many people will die tonight. I should be so happy to have gotten on a lifeboat, but I can't even think about my own life or safety. I don't want both of these men to become a statistic!

Harry had saved me. I know that. I had been so unhappy before this voyage, and once my father had introduced us, I knew things were going to be different. And things were different, until the iceberg. My mother had instilled in me the idea that women were purely objects—objects of desire, even, to the men around us and we were only good enough to be looked at, gawked at, but couldn't be spoken to. I knew, at the time, to make my mother happy, I had to be silent, reserved as she introduced me to every available bachelor on the street—as my father went off to work on Titanic. She kept him in the dark and in a way, she kept me in the dark, too. I had no real idea about the life outside of society and what I _did_ know, my mother tried her best to pound it out of me.

The supposed _unsinkable ship_, one thing my father had never said and I think refused to say, was sinking underneath everyone's feet and nothing or anyone, for that matter, was around to stop it or even help us. And the worst part is that there are only going to be a few survivors who may live to tell the tale.

I looked back up at Harry, who shut his mouth, as though he had said something. I didn't hear anything, but then again, how could I of? Wilde's still yelling about keeping the lifeboat steady. He said it again and I clearly could read his lips. He said, "I love you."

"I love you," I whispered back to him, trying not to cry. As the fireworks faded from the sky, tears escaped my eyes. No matter how much I tried to stop myself, I couldn't make the tears stop.

"Lower away evenly, Lads! Easy! Lower away!" Wilde's voice echoed around the dark sky, and everything was quiet. It was as if I was just sitting here and nothing was going on. I couldn't hear the other people still aboard the Titanic, rushing about, yelling to one another, all I could hear was the beating of my own heart and of it breaking. I looked away from my father and Harry and watched, almost as if in slow motion, the ropes and pulleys working together to bring us down into the water and then in front of me. It was just the ship. The iron. That was it. Nothing less, nothing more. I quickly returned my gaze back up to the deck, but my father was gone. Harry looked distraught for a mere moment, before returning his eyes back to me.

Wait a minute! Where did he go? I wanted to scream, yell for him, but it felt as though my vocal chords had been cut. I'm stuck here. I'm stuck here. Oh, God—I can't believe I just let some officer who I had played poker with put me on a damn lifeboat without my consent!

My heart began to beat faster as my mind began to tinker. I looked about me and although we were only inches away from the water, we were now hovering near an open area of the ship. I can't leave my father behind, I can't leave either of them behind! I stood up and pushing through a few passengers in front of me, I jumped from the safe haven known as a lifeboat back onto a sinking ship. I wasn't leaving, no matter what.


	27. Chapter Twenty Six

"ANTOINETTE!" Harold's voice came screaming from above as I struggled to get myself over the railing and back onto Titanic. My feet seemed to almost touch the waters of the North Atlantic, for I could feel the bitterness of the cold nip at my toes.

"PULL HER IN!" Wilde yelled as two male passengers, dressed in their best, as if ready to go down with the ship, pulled me back in. When I landed on my feet, I began to run. I ran for someone. Someone, anyone, I knew, either my father or Harry.

I pushed through many other passengers, some who were watching the boats lower into the sea. My father's wool coat is inevitably dragging me down, but I can't stop. I heard the splash of water and glancing quickly to my right, I saw the lifeboat I was on only moments before land into the water and was beginning to pull away from the sinking ship. There's always going to be another boat—for some other deserving passenger. That passenger won't be me.

I almost slammed into a door leading to the inside, but managed to get it open and continued to run. I realize how tilted the ship is, as if water had been invading the bow of the ship the entire time I had been in that lifeboat—which had only been minutes. Gravity. It took a lot more work to keep running in the opposite direction of the tilt, but the adrenaline is keeping the cold I am still feeling off of my mind and is also keeping my legs from collapsing underneath me.

I seem to be in a corridor I don't recognize. I had to stop myself, merely because this corset is, yet again, cutting off my air supply. I leaned against a painted white wall and as I glance down the hallway, there's luggage and clothing scattered throughout, but there doesn't seem to be a soul in sight. Come on, Antoinette, you need to find someone who knows where they're going! My father…that's who I want to see get on a boat. But, Harry needs to get on a boat, too…I closed my eyes, trying to think straight.

That's when I heard a sound. It sounded like the groaning of a beast, as if this said-beast had given up and I steadied myself as the groaning grew a little louder. The lights flickered off and then turned back on, without a moment's hesitation. Then, they turned off completely. I began to panic. I'm petrified of the dark! Especially when it's dark and I have no idea of where I am, or where I'm going. I can only somewhat gasp for air because of the corset and I pulled my father's coat, mine underneath, closer to my body, as if he was hugging me. He always would comfort me when the dark was concerned.

"Please, turn on," I begged the darkness. "Please." Nothing. I can't stay in here forever, but it'll be practically impossible to make my way out of the interior of such a large ship—No, it _is _impossible. It's over. It's over. I'm stuck here until something better comes along. The lights suddenly flickered on, off, and then on again. They were on! At least for the time being. "Thank you, God," I whispered, before mustering up enough energy to continue on my trek. My trek into the unknown, really, but I know I have to get there…_fast_. No one knows what could be in store in the next hour or the next minute, for that matter, and that's as frightening as death itself.

I made it out of the hallway and past some unfamiliar rooms, to see them unsurprisingly unoccupied. They were as empty as a graveyard. I stopped myself for thinking this place was a graveyard, it was supposed to be the Ship of Dreams. Lifejackets lay on the floor, on chairs and even on tables. Why aren't people wearing them?

I struggled to keep up with the force of the gravity, in heels, mind you—and when I hit the first-class area, I knew I had forgotten something. I should be calling for either my father or Harry! How would they know where I was if I didn't call for them? They weren't psychic! One of them had to be around. Half of this ship must be underwater by now, there are only so many places they could be. I have no idea how much damage has been done, but by the way Titanic is tilting—Either way, it's not good.

"DADDY!" I called out. "HARRY!" No response. I'm not completely shocked, but I'm not one to give up so easily. I passed through more unfamiliar rooms, that were obviously first-class with all of the beautiful décor, but I can't gawk at it now. "HARRY! DAD!" I had to refrain from crying as my feet began to slow down by themselves. "HELLO?" I yelled, my voice echoing down the empty hallways and the rooms. "HELLO! IS ANYONE HERE? HELLO!?" I sighed. "Damn it!" I cursed under my breath.

Nothing. It's so difficult to believe that there's no one around. How many passengers are on this ship again? I gulped, beads of sweat forming on my forehead. Don't panic. Everything's not lost. Everything is not lost, Antoinette Andrews. My feet dragging, I kept going. I have to find one of them eventually. I used the doorways as a way to pull me through the tilted rooms, every one of them empty.

I ended up at a what looked to be a café. I've never been here, but there's black and white tiled floor and those nice wicker chairs that are in the lunching area are in here, too, along with—what else? A bar. The liquor is still there. I'm surprised nobody went for it. I pulled my way through the room and before I knew it, I was in the first-class smoking room. Ismay's paradise.

The tables and the chairs were sliding away from me and a cart came rolling towards me, almost slamming me to the floor and rolling over me, but I managed to jump out of the way just as it passed. I moved my feet as fast as I could, keeping my eyes in front of me—Until I saw feet. It looked to be a man, just standing at the fireplace, staring at some painting hanging above the mantle. I ran towards the person and stopped immediately when I realized who it was. My father.

"Daddy?" He slightly glanced over at me, barely breaking his gaze from the burning fireplace. "Dad." He turned to me, his eyes seeming to break in front of me.

"Antoinette," he said softly, "You're not here. I put you on a lifeboat." Well, technically, he _did_, and so did Harry—but I can't explain that. It doesn't matter now. I have no idea what to say, but just…watching him is making my own heart break. I thought my heart had been broken, but with each passing second, I hear the rumbling of the ship, the shattering of dishes and glasses, and sounds that were merely inaudible, muffled by the sounds of petrified screams, my heart cracked just a little bit more. I have to say something. I can't listen to it.

"You did put me on a boat," I said, managing a nod. "I…I jumped off." He suddenly turned to me, swaying from the tip of Titanic, shaking his head at me.

"I don't understand."

"I'm not leaving you," I decided aloud, taking a step towards him. I'll stay here if I have to.

"Antoinette, I can't leave." He paused. "You know that I can't."

"What about what you said?" I asked. "About getting on a lifeboat?"

"I lied." I figured that. He swayed towards me, putting his hands on my shoulders. "Your life is important, Antoinette. I put you on a lifeboat for a reason. There are only so many before they're…" He hesitated, taking in a sharp breath. "…before they're _gone_." His life is important, though! Doesn't he realize that?

"I'm not leaving without _you_, Daddy." Without him or Harry, I can't leave.

"I'm sorry." He wants to go down with his ship, I now realize. I had never thought of it before. Why hadn't I? It made complete sense. But, I can't have him gone. I can't. I need him. For God's sake, he's my father. "You need to get on a boat and…" He stopped, his eyes welling up with tears. "You need to go before it's too late." Tears formed in my eyes, but I didn't let them fall. I threw my arms around his neck, refusing to let go.

"I'm not leaving," I told him softly, into his ear.

"Oh, Antoinette…" his voice trailed off as he wrapped his arms around me, stroking my hair. That's one thing I will miss. "You must be freezing," he managed to mumble. I shook my head. How can I be cold with all of the commotion going on around me? How can I be cold when I realize I will probably never see my father again? I didn't even look down, but I know from my jumping escapade and all of that running I had done tonight…my dress can't be a garment anymore.

"No, I'm not," I reassured him, resting my head on his shoulder. Well, as close as I could reach. He kissed me on he head as my arms dropped to my sides.

"Ann, you have to go." I shook my head, as more tears came to me.

"No!" I whimpered.

"Antoinette, you need to."

"I…I…I don't want to leave you. You have to come with me and—"

"You know I can't do that, darling." He hesitated, wiping a few tears that had managed to escape my control away. "…You can't end up in the water. It's too cold, you and I both know that." I managed a nod. Just from my experience earlier, I don't ever want to go swimming again. "You need to get off of this ship before it sinks to the bottom of the Atlantic." That's when we heard the revolving door behind us open and Harry came running in, completely out of breath.

"Are you out of your God-forsaken mind!?" he asked me frantically. Yes. I feel like I'm in a dream and losing my mind. "Wilde wanted me to get on a boat—I couldn't go without knowing _you_ were okay." I glanced back at my father, who gestured to Harry as he took my hands.

"Harry, I need you to take Antoinette back to a lifeboat and get her off of this ship." I glanced at Harry, shaking my head. He stared at me, knowing that's not what I wanted. Heartbroken, he nodded at my father.

"Of course, Mr. Andrews." I burst into tears at that point, throwing myself into his arms again.

"Antoinette, honey, you can't stay here on account of me," he said gently. "You're young, you have your life to live." So does he! I hugged him tightly, refusing to let go. I won't let go—not like before. He was so warm, I can't just…_leave_ without him.

"I'm not leaving you behind," I repeated. He unlocked my arms about his neck and took my hands, squeezing them. I tried to hang on, but he's much stronger than me. It was frivolous.

"Antoinette." He stared into my eyes, before taking in a deep breath. "You go with Officer Lowe. He'll take good care of you, won't you, Harry?" I can't even glance at Harry, but heard his short reply, "Yes, sir." My father managed a smile at me. "See? It'll all work out for the best."

Not without him. I can't get on a lifeboat, knowing that my father will die on this God-forsaken ship. Ismay should be the one to die, not my father. He didn't do anything. He didn't do anything to deserve this fate. Who cares about pride or going down like a gentlemen? Who cares what everyone else has to say? Who cares!

"We'll move away," I told him softly. "Nobody will know." He stopped short, looking down at the carpet under our feet before glancing back at me. "We can forget this whole thing ever happened." He shook his head.

"I can't, honey." He hugged me suddenly, myself unexpectedly beginning to cry again. "You know I can't." He paused before whispering into my ear, "I love you, Antoinette." I hugged him back, kissing him on the cheek.

"I love you, too." He let go of me and squeezed my hands lovingly before he handed me off to Harry, who had inched his way toward us. "Take good care of her," he instructed. "Take good care of my little girl." Harry nodded.

"I will, Mr. Andrews."

"I know you will." Wait.

"I'll never see you again," I whimpered suddenly.

"I'll always be with you." Before I knew it, Harry was pulling me away from my father, towards the revolving door.

"Bye, Daddy," I managed to croak out.

"Good-bye, Antoinette." Just as I was about to pass through the revolving door, he blew me a kiss.


	28. Chapter Twenty Seven

The panic had now set in. The band continued to play, but nobody was listening. Harry had managed to pull me through the crowd and towards the nearest lifeboat, where Lightoller was fighting the crowd. I could hear Will yelling in the background to some other officer, but his voice sounded so far away…I looked around me, and everyone had the same look on their face: everyone thinks they're going to die.

"Get those oars in place! Get an oar under it!" Will shouted. Looking over my shoulder, I see him trying to get a lifeboat from a higher level of the ship down onto the deck, so it could be filled. "Hold it!" he instructed. "Hold it!" The boat crashed onto the deck and everyone jumped. He then ran to what looked to be a hidden staircase to the lower levels and he had to stop himself before turning back to the men. It must be flooded or something, for he looked as pale as a ghost. "Get these davits cranked in! Let's get the falls up!"

I turned back to Harry when he squeezed my hand, going around the crowd and towards Lightoller—who pulled out a gun and pointed it towards the pushing crowd.

"Keep order here!" he yelled to the crowd, pushing them away from the ledge of the ship. "Get back! Get back!" I heard a scream and a woman actually got _pushed_ overboard, near the filling lifeboat, now dangling from it. "Hold onto her!" He shouted to the level of people below us. "Pull her in!" The people on the lifeboat are frightened out of their wits and a lower-class officer on the lifeboat took out what looked to be a white piece of wood, trying to stop men from jumping onto the boat.

"Get back, I say, or I'll shot you all like dogs!" Lightoller threatened. Everyone immediately calmed down, as the gun all faced them. "Keep order here!" He took in a deep breath. "Keep back, I say!" He suddenly turned to us, looking almost shocked to see us. "Miss Andrews," he said softly. I managed a nod. "Mr. Lowe," he said, having regained his composure, gesturing to Harry, "Man this boat." Harry nodded as Lightoller filled the empty revolver with bullets from his coat pocket.

"Get on first," he said to me, his hand still in mine. He whistled to one of the officers on the lifeboat and he took my hand, helping me aboard. Harry climbed on after me, hanging onto the ropes that would lower the boat down, hopefully soon. I sat down with him to my right, in the second row to the front. I don't think I'm going to jump back on any time soon.

"Right!" Harry said to the passengers on the still almost-full lifeboat, "Is everybody alright? Nobody panic!" Is he _serious_? I looked back to the deck and Lightoller is still struggling to keep the crowd under control. He yelled for Will and he came running. I suppose they need someone else for crowd control.

"Stop pushing!" Will yelled as he held back the crowd with Lightoller. Two or three men actually fell overboard and into the water at that point, splashing cold water everywhere. Sea spray hit my face and made a shiver go down my spine.

"Can't you give us a chance to live, you limey bastard!?" shouted an Irish voice. A passenger, it has to be. Will pulled out his gun and held it to the crowd, just as Lightoller had done. He's shaking more than he should be while holding a gun.

"I'll shoot any man who tries to get past me!" he threatened over Lightoller's yelling voice. "Now, get back!"

"Bastard!" the same obnoxious passenger yelled.

"Any more women and children!?" Lightoller yelled, gesturing to the boat. When are we going to lower? Do they want to fill the boat up completely—Let's hope so. I glanced at Harry, who looked just as confused as me. Looking under me, at the level below us, people were touching the bottom of the lifeboat, as if they were ready to climb in. I never wanted to admit this, but I am right now: I'm frightened. That's when I heard the gunshots.

I looked back up to the deck and I saw two men laying dead in front of the large crowd, everyone's jaws dropped in shock. Lightoller stopped and Will began to back up, just as the blood from one passenger wearing a lifejacket, the one who called him a bastard, was trailing down Titanic's deck. Smoke rose from Will's gun. Did he shoot at them or was it just an air shot—to get everyone to calm down? Or did Lightoller shoot them?

Will looked at the gun in his hand as he continued to back up, towards the ledge of Titanic, near Harry and I. What's he doing? Another officer getting rope to our right, probably for a lifeboat, glanced over his shoulder at Will. He didn't notice. Will looked at the crowd again, glanced at Lightoller, before turning his gaze to me. I managed a smile at him, unsure of what else to do. He looked away from me and saluted everyone, before putting the gun to his head. No, no—He's going to _kill_ himself! No, not tonight! Not now, he couldn't—

"WILL, NO!" I screamed, standing and leaning over the lifeboat's edge. But, the gun went off and he back-flipped into the North Atlantic with a large splash. Oh. My. God.

"Ann, sit back down," Harry's voice quivered as he placed a hand on my shoulder, pushing me back into my seat. There was this silence on the deck and it seemed to last for an eternity. William Murdoch, woman-less Will, had shot himself. He's dead. And he's not coming back. Harry glanced down at the water, but I can't move. I watched as Lightoller paused before returning back to the crowd.

"Now, stand back, damn you!" he yelled angrily. "Get back! Damn you!" Another crash occurred on the deck. It was yet another lifeboat trying to be taken down from a higher level of the ship. Harry gazed around us before nodding at two men who were near the levelers and pulleys that would bring us down.

"Take us down!" he shouted. What is he _talking_ about? There's more room! Maybe a seat or two may not seem like a big deal, and I suppose it's not—since the Titanic is merely tilting more and more with each passing second—but that's someone's lifeline! The boat began to lower without anyone's command and as we hit the second open-level of the ship, people began to attempt to climb in. Everyone on the lifeboat was trying to push them off, except for me. I can't move. I watched as Harry tried to take control of the situation.

"Sit down!" Harry instructed to people on the lifeboat before turning back to the people still on Titanic. "Wait! Stay back, you lot! Just stay back!" Two gun shots went out into the ocean and everyone ducked. People who had tried to rush the boat had backed off immediately. Harry did that!

"HARRY, STOP IT!" I screeched at him. "You're going to kill somebody!" He looked over at me, what I had said, I think, sinking in, for he placed the gun back into his coat pocket—where it belonged.

The lifeboat continued to lower and before I knew it, we hit the water with a slight splash as the ropes that had brought us down were unhooked. The other officers sitting among us pulled out oars and began to row away from the ship. People continued to drop like raindrops off of the ship and near us, but no one tried to climb aboard. The gunshots had scared away anyone who thought they could just jump onto the boat. I shut my eyes as tightly as I could—Will's body was around and I don't think my heart could take any more pain. Not tonight.

"Alright, let's row! Come on, there's no time to lose!" Harry shouted to the other officers, taking a seat on the ledge of the lifeboat, still beside me. "One-hundred and fifty yards, row!"

I glanced back up at the deck as we slowly but surely got away from the sinking ocean liner. I could see how tilted the ship actually was—It looked as though it was just ready to be sucked in by the sea. I took in a sharp breath, bringing my coat and my father's closer to me. It was the only thing I have of him. People are still screaming, the band's still playing, and one more firework went up into the sky. Everyone ohed and awed at them, but that must've been the last—for that was the last firework that lit up the sky for minutes. This is all too unreal, this can't be happening.

"Bye, Daddy," I whispered.


	29. Chapter Twenty Eight

All I could hear was screaming. Petrified screams. Even far from Titanic, and getting farther as the officers on board continued to row, the screams just seem to echo back to us, and to everyone else in this lifeboat—not to mention, the lifeboats around us. _"An hour, two at the most_." My father's voice echoed in my head and I kept my eyes locked on the ship, as it continued to submerge into the water. I could still hear the band playing, after all of this time—They just won't give up. Everyone on board was running, scrambling for a lifeboat that wasn't underwater. Smoke rose into the air above Titanic as the water continued to come, bringing people under with it, as others knocked them down to get to higher ground. Then, the band just _stopped_. The music that had filled the air all night withered away, and the sounds of death surrounded me. I suppose they stopped because it was the very end. That's what they always do.

I should've helped more—I shouldn't have been so selfish, and gotten on a boat, when there were so many other people who deserved to live more than me.

"Antoinette." Harry moved from his place on the ledge and sat down beside me, wrapping an arm around me. I burrowed my head into his shoulder, closing my eyes. I won't cry. There's always time to cry later. This all has to be over soon. But, I can't watch my father's dream just submerge the way it is. Nobody's even talking, and if they are, they're gasping at the sight. I'll never forget this, I know—It may haunt me for the rest of my life.

"It's almost over," he tried to reassure me into my ear. Will it ever _truly_ be over? He looked down at his watch, but didn't say a word to me. It doesn't matter what time it is. I may end up staying awake for the rest of my life. We sleep when we die and at this moment, I don't want to die.

"Look at that!" one woman behind me hissed to another. I looked up from Harry's shoulder and saw one of the funnels of Titanic lean to its' side as the ropes holding it together snapped in the water. Everyone stopped what they were doing—from fighting for a lifeboat to getting to higher ground and watched as the tunnel snapped three-fourths of the way down, falling into the water, above passengers! A unanimous scream went out and the tunnel slammed into the water, creating a wave effect. Lifeboats near the ship almost tipped over and everyone clung for dear life. Even the wave that hit us was hard and rocky, and I merely clung to Harry tighter than before.

The lights then flickered. Everyone screamed, yet again, but the lights remained on…tried and true. Even submerged in water, at least there was light for them. Those poor, unfortunate…I blinked back my own tears as what looked to be a group of ants, I know they're people, begin to flock for the stern of the ship, that was now exceeding into the air higher and higher than the last proceeding second.

"What time is it…?" I whispered to Harry. It only seems appropriate to whisper. No one else has the gall to speak.

"Two-ten." I then saw the lights on the Titanic flicker off. There was one unanimous scream from everyone aboard. I think this time for good, they're not going to turn back on. I gulped, trying to pry my eyes away from what will ultimately be a horrible memory. The stern was rising swiftly now and the stars above us were the only light that could allow anyone to see what was going on. Those poor people—stuck on the ship…that _dark_ ship. Most of them would ultimately perish, even though I don't want it to be so.

The propellers hung in the air as another officer on a lifeboat below them yelled to row faster. People were now jumping off the back of the stern and falling as little pebbles into the water, before trying to swim to a nearby lifeboat. Some were just sliding down Titanic's deck, unable to find anything to hold onto, before slipping into the sea. Others were now in the water, splashing about, attempting to get away from the ship, but there was only so far you could swim before your muscles would freeze on you. Even from my little experience with the water, my muscles stopped functioning for a while and I thought perhaps I wasn't going to make it out of there. I did, though—but nobody on that ship…right now…knows if they're going to make it or not. I just don't understand why they would try to jump, except for the possible-lifeboat factor!

More and more people continued to jump, from both the stern and the side of the ship hanging in mid-air. I burrowed my head into Harry's neck, unable to watch any longer. What are we doing here? This just _cannot_ be happening—I must be dreaming. I have to be. Nothing this violent and intense could _really_ happen to anyone in the real world.

"Antoinette, Ann…" Harry's gentle voice tried to calm me down, but I am not looking at that ship. Not now. My father's gone and now, who knows how many people have already passed away. The numbers will only grow. "It's alright, it's going to be okay…" He doesn't know that. Nobody really does. Eventually, this ordeal has to end. I'm just not sure when.

The screaming and wailing continued and there was no activity on the lifeboat I'm in or any of the lifeboats floating nearby. Nobody spoke—and I sincerely mean _nobody_. Nobody _could_, even if they wanted to—What was happening around us was too shocking.

"…Hail Mary, Full of Grace, the Lord is with thee," began one female passenger near the rear of the lifeboat, softly and sounding as if she was holding back her tears, "…blessed art thou among women…" Others gradually began to recite the prayer with her. I looked up from Harry's neck and everyone had their heads bowed down, eyes closed, their minds and thoughts on the others. "…and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus…"

"Holy Mary," I began to recite along with them, "Mother of God…"

"Pray for us sinners," Harry chimed in, "Now, and at the hour of death." When the last work was spoken, a large cracking sound made me look up from Harry's neck. Titanic was splitting…into two pieces! The wires and lights sparked in the center of the split, like the fiery pits of Hell. She couldn't take the weight any longer, just like the rest of us. The bow broke away completely from the rest of Titanic and sunk into the depths of the North Atlantic, as the stern fell back into the water, making a gigantic splash and wave, as the people still on the ship screamed bloody murder. Sea spray went everywhere! We waited for the wave from the stern to come towards our boat and it did—rocking us just a little harder than the wave from the funnel. As for the people who were now _underneath_ Titanic? I have no idea. "Amen."


	30. Chapter Twenty Nine

The ship is completely underwater now. I couldn't and didn't watch. I had to keep my head turned the entire time. All I did now was keep myself close to Harry, my head nestled in his neck, refusing to move away from him. He's the only thing I have right now—The one person I have that I have the closest connection with. My father's gone…If he is out there in the water, there's really no hope for him. And Will? He's gone, too. The image of him putting the pistol to his head may never leave my memory, but I hope to God it does.

As the people who had fallen into the water began to scream hysterically, louder and louder, I brought myself closer to Harry to block out the noise. I want this nightmare to be over, once and for all. He's had his arms wrapped around me since he sat down beside me and I don't know if he plans on letting go. I hope not. Either way, it's extreme hysteria and I know everyone on the boat must feel what I'm feeling right now: Why aren't we going back? Harry's the commanding officer.

I looked up at him and he had this devastated look on his face, as if he was unsure of what to do. We should go back—We have to go back! It's a question of life and death, but could we risk it? What if people began to swarm the boats, trying to get in as they had when Titanic was above the ocean, trying to save themselves? What if the boat tips over? Or are we going to be forced to listen to all of the yelling and panicked pleas of help until they gradually die away…? This made no sense!

"For God's sake!" I heard a woman scream.

"PLEASE, HELP US!" a man shouted after her.

"Harry…" I tugged on his coat.

"Yes, Love?" he asked into my ear.

"What are we going to do?"

"I have…_no idea_." That struck a nerve. He has no idea what to do. That means that no one on the other boats must know what to do, either. This isn't good. I suddenly heard a whistle, an officer's whistle—one that sounded so familiar.

"RETURN THE BOATS!" Wilde! Officer Wilde! That was him—He was stuck in the water! He's using that whistle to his full advantage, the blaring sound echoing over the waters and towards us. I looked up from Harry's shoulder and turned to look at the crowd. I gasped at what I saw.

There had to be over one-thousand people splashing about one another, most of them wearing white lifejackets, which shone under the stars. How could we just sit here and do _nothing_? My heart ached. What if we went _back_? We could end up hurting more than saving—But, it could be worth a shot. Right?

"That was Wilde," I whispered to Harry, tugging on his jacket.

"Who?" he asked, as if he was in another world.

"Henry Wilde!" I shivered, leaning forward to get a better look at the crowd. He was there. It was almost as if I could see him—but we're too far away to see anyone in particular, just the mass of water splashing around. "Harry…" My voice trailed off, turning back to him. "We have to go back," I breathed.

"What!?" exclaimed an officer with a thick British accent to my left, leaning on the side of the lifeboat, using his oar as somewhat of a pillow. "Are you out of your mind?" I looked about me and the tension had sort of let up since I had spoke. I _have_ to be losing my mind. Harry whirled around and glared at the officer.

"Don't speak to her that way," he said between gritted teeth. The officer glanced at me, and then back to Harry.

"I apologize, Miss," he said sincerely to me. "It's just—"

"We can't go back!" one passenger exclaimed behind me, cutting off the officer's apology.

"It's impossible!" shouted another. I sighed angrily, the cold baring into me, making me shiver more feverishly than before.

"What's wrong with you people!?" I screamed angrily. "They're dying out there!"

"They'll swamp the boat!" said the same officer who had told me I was quote-on-quote crazy. "They'll pull us down right with them and then where will we be? We'll all be dead!" Wilde's whistle blew again. Oh, no. I pushed hair out of my face, glancing at Harry. It's ultimately _his_ decision. Not mine, or anyone else's.

"Fine," I said softly, before leaning back into Harry. He took in a quick breath, before he moved. I looked up and he was nodding.

"She's right," he agreed suddenly.

"Have you lost your marbles!?" asked the other officer to the right of me, hanging onto the other oar for dear life. "We're out in the middle of absolute nowhere!" Harry shook his head, glancing around the waters—at what, I don't know.

"One, two…" He gestured to the lifeboats around us. "We're going back—We have to." He paused. "It's what we need to do."

"They'll kill us all!" said another passenger, scared out of her wits. Harry ignored her and pulled out his own whistle, blowing into it as he searched the bottom of the lifeboat, yet again—for what, I don't know. He pulled out a flashlight. Where did he get _that_? "Antoinette, I need you to let go of me." With pleasure. I backed away from him as he stood up. "You two boats!" he shouted, blowing his whistle again before pointing to the two boats nearby, with his flashlight. "Make your way over here, quickly!" What was he trying to do?

Both boats seemed to wake with activity as Harry eyed the rest of the water with the flashlight. Light. Something people actually can deal with—Light means energy. I could now hear the splashing of water and I watched the boats in silence as they began to make their way towards us.

"Harry, what are you doing?" I asked him.

"You'll see," was his only reply. He has gone into officer mode, I now realize. He's working. I can respect that. "Get that rope!" he instructed to the officer who had called me crazy. He merely followed orders, refusing to look at any of the passengers.

I turned back to the crowd of people, still screaming. He just needs to _hurry_, that's all. The boats continued to make their way towards us and one officer pulled one lifeboat in with his oar as Harry took the other one. They were lined up between us, as if sandwiched between this lifeboat.

"Alright!" Harry blew his whistle again and all of the officers on the other boats looked up from their oars. "I want everyone's attention, please!" He gestured to the boats around us. "For the time, I want all of these boats tied together!" Nobody moved. Why did he want all of the boats tied together? "JUST DO IT!" he shouted angrily.

Well, they listened to that. The officers on our boat threw the rope to both boats and they began to tie them together, with Harry holding the flashlight over them—but right now, it looks to be more of an interrogation light. "Now, bring your oars over there!" he shouted to the boat to our right. "Tie these two boats together as well." He pointed to the boats on either side of us. The officers continued to tie in silence, as the passengers on all of the lifeboats equally mumbled to each other about what was going on. "Now, make sure that's tied up nice and tight." He glanced over his shoulder at the still-panicked group of people splashing about in the water and they seem farther away than they were before. Perhaps they are.

"Right!" He turned back to us. "Listen to me, Men! We _have_ to go back!" There were these mumbled words of disagreement from the lower-ranked officers. He didn't listen. "I want to transfer all of the women from this boat…" He pointed to the boat to our right, "into that boat…" He gestured to the boat we're in. "As quick as you can please!" What is he trying to accomplish? "Let's create some space over there. Move forward and out." I stood up as the women around me began to move from the other boat to our right, with the help of the disgruntled, disagreeing officers. I took station at the left of the boat and helped other women onto our boat.

"Careful, careful, watch your step," I warned, helping an older woman over and sitting her down where I had been.

"Move forward and out!" Harry shouted. Is he actually _shouting_ at me? He's lucky I'm helping at all—But, I do know that's morally right and I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't help. We continued to transfer the women from one boat to ours until it was empty. It took what felt like a half an hour, since half of the women felt as though they were going to fall off the boats—and they felt the need to scream. As if the screaming in the water wasn't enough!

"There, sir!" said an officer behind me. "We're empty here." The lifeboat he was trying to empty completely—was finally empty. "It's just us." I glanced over my shoulder at the shining light on the now empty boat. It was just two officers there, hanging onto the oars for dear life.

"Is everyone alright?" Harry called out. Everyone managed mumbles of _yes_. "Alright then." He took a step onto the empty boat, flashlight in hand. "Just stay together," he said solemnly. "Make sure those ties stay together."

"Yes, sir—"

"Harry, wait!" I stood up, making my way over to the ledge of the lifeboat, so I could climb over.

"Antoinette, stay here," he said as he instructed one of the rowers to untie the boat they were in from the other two boats.

"No," I disagreed between my shivers. "I'm going with you."

"Ann, stay here with the rest of the women," he said firmly. "They need you." I glanced around the boat and I don't know anyone. I'm strong enough to lift people out of the water if I had to. I may look small, but I'm not weak.

"No—I'm coming."

"Ann—"

"Oh, for God's sake, just let her go!" said the obnoxious officer who had called me crazy. Harry shot him another look, a look of death—and he immediately shut his mouth. He sighed, giving in.

"Alright, alright." He held out his hand for me and I managed to get from the lifeboat I had left the Titanic on into the lifeboat where we may save maybe one soul. "Start rowing!" he shouted to the officers on the boat and, slowly but surely, we began to make our way to the now less active collection of people. Why had Wilde stopped blowing that whistle? People weren't screaming half as much as they were what felt like seconds ago, barely at all—I know it took a little while to move all of those people out of the lifeboat we're in now, but…there's still time, isn't there? Well, Harry flashed his light over the large collection of people, now in front of us, and there was barely any moving. If any, at all. The pleas for help had nearly ceased. We continued to row towards the group, and I could now see with the flashlight deck chairs and other furniture floating in the water.

"Right ahead, sir," said one officer, gesturing to the crowd. Thanks for informing us all.

"Oars!" He paused. "Do you see any moving?" His voice echoed more so than it did when he was ordering everyone out of the lifeboats. I leaned against the right of the lifeboat's edge, keeping my eyes peeled for any movement at all. There was nothing out there. Damn it, I need a flashlight.

"No, sir," said the officer to the left, "None moving, sir."

"Harry, are there any more flashlights?"

"Here you go, Miss," said the officer behind me, who's still rowing, as he handed me a flashlight. It looked like a long pipe, but after turning it on, it works fine. I managed a smile at him.

"Thank you." I gazed the light over the water, but nothing.

"Check them!" Harry ordered as the two dropped their oars and began to pick up the bodies near the boat, gently pushing them out of the way of our trail. "Bring that oar up here." I watched as Harry used the oar to push people out of the way at the bow of the lifeboat, and the officers followed his lead. "Check them, make sure." I glanced at the officer behind me as he picked up a dead woman from her lifejacket. He shook his head.

"These are _dead_, sir," he said. He emphasized on the word _dead_. It made it seem even more final. I covered my hands with my two coats as I pushed a few people away from the boat, but the water made me almost scream—It was that cold. I should've known. You can see everyone breathing out here, it was that bitter. And I have no gloves, to top everything else off. Harry must've seen me in shock, for he took off his gloves and handed them to me. I shook my head.

"Harry, you need them."

"You're searching—Use them." I sighed but took them from him as I snapped them on. They're much too big for me, but I need something to cover my hands other than the coats. I rolled up my sleeves as I pulled them as far back as I could.

"Now, give way. Ahead easy," Harry continued. "Careful with your oars, don't hit them." He cleared his throat. "IS THERE ANYONE ALIVE OUT THERE!?" Harry called out as I leaned over the edge of the lifeboat even more so than before. No response.

"Careful…" He took hold of the coat as I practically fell into the water. "I've got you, Miss." I steadied myself with my left arm as I merely leaned in a little less than before.

"Yet again, thank you," I said softly. Even now, I can be polite. I never thought I'd ever row through a sea of the dead, but I suppose there's a first time for everything. This is gut-wrenching. Harry yet again cleared his throat when, after minutes, there was no response.

"CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?" he shouted, louder than before. "IS THERE ANYONE ALIVE OUT THERE—" He sounded as if he stopped short. I looked over and he had stopped, staring into the water, all of the blood from his face drained. I turned my flashlight to where he was staring and floating in the water was yet another frozen woman, holding an infant. "We waited too long," he stammered. Turning back to all of us, mostly to the officer on the other side of the lifeboat, he aimed his flashlight at the other officer, who was still looking for people—people who needed to be saved. "Well, keep checking them! Keep looking!"

We continued on our trip, the officer beside me and myself pushing bodies out of the way for the lifeboat to maneuver through them. Yet again, I found myself leaning, holding the flashlight in one hand and my other hand on the lifeboat railing, and I can't look at anyone in the face. It doesn't matter if they're dead. Even dead, they all look scared out of their wits. Harry's gloves, at least, are blocking out the icy cold water—but the fumes of death are so apparent, it's sickening. That's when I saw him. Henry Wilde. Frozen to death, with that whistle in his mouth, clinging for dear life onto what looked to be part of a deck chair. Oh. My. God. I jumped back into the lifeboat, startled.

"What is it?" Harry asked me, looking over the side of the boat with his own flashlight.

"It's…" I glanced over the lifeboat. "It's Henry." I pointed with my flashlight to Wilde, who was just floating there, his eyes closed—and for some strange reason, he looks extremely calm. "…Henry Wilde," I managed to say between my shivers. Even though I've been shivering all night, this time it just seemed the most apparent. Harry managed a nod, looking as if he had lost someone so dear to him, as if Wilde was his father. My eyes welled up with tears. Wilde. I barely knew any of Titanic's officers, with the exception of Harry and Will, but they felt like family to me, only after a few days. They must've felt like so much more to Harry.

"May God have mercy on his soul," was all he could say. I gulped back my own tears, gripping the flashlight tighter than before, refusing to look into the water. Instead, I looked around me. This is too much. I should've stayed behind, with the other women. But, my father…

"May God have mercy on all of us," I whispered, keeping my tears to myself.


	31. Chapter Thirty

Harry had saved four people. He had saved four people from freezing to death in the water. It took me some time to realize that, laying in this dumb lifeboat now, quite some distance from where we had left the other two lifeboats earlier, that most of the people on Titanic who had the unfortunate luck of being tossed into the sea—had died of hypothermia before we were able to reach them. We tried. We really did. Trying just wasn't good enough.

As for myself? I've turned numb. It's so cold. After we had gone through the sea of bodies, Harry had the officers turn the boat around and before I knew it, I was drifting off to sleep. "Just sleep," he had said. "Just lay down right here." He had gestured to the pristine floor of the lifeboat and just as I was about to lay down, he threw a blanket over the floor. When I finally curled up on my side, he wrapped a blanket around me, before whispering, "I love you." He then pushed hair out my face ever so gently and kissed me on the forehead. "Sleep well."

And I suppose I took his advice. I feel asleep. However, it wasn't constant sleep. It was just minutes—if at most, thirty, of rest and something would jolt me awake. It's not surprising—The water's hitting the lifeboat, rocking us back and forth, I'm freezing, what else could I expect? To actually _sleep_?

I suddenly awoke, completely out of breath and flustered. Oh—I had the worst dream! It was about my father and Will, and they had just _frozen_ to death in the water, before I could get to them. I was on this enormous steamer, it wasn't the Titanic, it was smaller—But, I couldn't get to them. There were too many obstacles in my way. I rubbed my forehead before bringing my blanket closer to me.

"You alright, Love?" Harry whispered to me. I glanced over to my right and he was laying beside me, sharing the enormous blanket with me, half-asleep himself, one eye open and one eye shut. I managed a nod, turning to face him. "Bad dream?" he offered.

"Try a nightmare beyond belief," I shivered, before yawning. "Aren't you supposed to be awake?"

"It's another person's turn," he said, sounding extremely relieved. I sighed, trying to shake the memory of my dream. "It was just a dream," he said gently.

"I know." I sighed again. "I know." But, my father. He wanted to go down with his ship and I knew from the moment I left that smoking room, that I would never see him again, but Will…William Murdoch. He could've made it! He could be here with us right now. Granted, who would want to be _us_ right now? We're freezing, out in the middle of the North Atlantic. But, he could've…lived.

I suppose it's honorable about what they both did, my father and Will—but who cares about honor when you leave the people you care about behind? I mean, I knew Will for only a few days, but I did love him. And my father. He was my _father_…He named me. He was the only man, or even the only person in my life who treated me like a human being…before I boarded Titanic, that is. In one sense, I gained Harry from getting onto the Titanic in the first place, but I lost something much greater. I lost my parent. The one parent I had ever connected with, if children ever decide to connect with their parents…he's gone and he's not coming back.

"Ann, he loved you." I looked up from my blanket to Harry as he wrapped an arm around me, bringing me closer to him. "Your father loved you." I managed a nod, the only comfort I feel is hearing someone else's heartbeat. "That's why he wanted you out of there. Don't you realize that?"

"I guess," I told him softly.

"I told him I would take care of you, and I will. I promised him that. That's how much he loved you, Antoinette—He put you before himself. He wanted you safe." I should've stayed with my father—and perhaps if I hadn't been so lost in my own mind, in my own thoughts, in my own happiness, Will wouldn't have shot himself.

I practically put the gun to his forehead and pulled the trigger. I had crushed him and I mean, I really, sincerely, _crushed_ him. The thought of how I treated him makes me want to jump off this boat and make everyone else just leave me there to wither. And I led him on. That's the worst part.

"…And Will did, too." I glanced up at him. "He did love you—" He shot me a look before smiling, "and don't deny it." I slightly smiled, as much as I could, considering I feel like a human Popsicle.

"I wasn't going to." I shook my head. "I just don't understand. Why did he do that?" Why did he shoot himself?

"He panicked." I looked up at him and he nodded. "He just…didn't know what to do."

"Still, I don't understand why…"

"He shot two people, Antoinette." What!?

"_What_?" When did that happen? I saw the two people on the ship's deck, dead, but Will hadn't shot them, he wouldn't have. Would he?

"You didn't see that?" he asked skeptically.

"I didn't see him shoot anyone!"

"Well, then, maybe it was just my mind playing tricks on me. It was—too _fast_ to even comprehend." My eyes welled up with more tears. I can't cry. I'm just too tired.

"Harry," I managed to say.

"Yes, Love?"

"What _happened_?" Too many questions—and too few answers. There was this silence and I looked up to the sky. The light has yet to come and I just seem to be looking at the stars above us. It was so cold, I could see my breath as I took each breath in and out, along with Harry's. Was Titanic a mixed blessing, I now wonder? It seemed like such a tragedy, I can't even believe I'm here. He shook his head at me.

"Well…she sank." I know that! I had been in the room when my father said Titanic was doomed. We had all been doomed at that point. "But, uh, for some reason, you were the answer."

"Excuse me?"

"Had either of us not gone on the Titanic, we never would've met."

"…And we wouldn't be in the middle of the ocean," I pointed out.

"True."

"Even though I wouldn't trade it for anything," I admitted. He took my hand, kissing it.

"Me, either."

"Hey. Look at that." I pointed up to the sky, where there seem to be a bunch of shooting stars! No matter what direction I look in, they're everywhere. "Shooting stars." Through all of this, the world has yet to stop. "Can you believe it?" He smiled, looking up to the sky.

"Pretty incredible, isn't it?" he asked me. I nodded.

"It is." I looked over at him, my eyes welling up with tears. I'm too cold to want to cry—the tears will surely freeze to my face. Besides, I know we won't be stuck on this lifeboat for much longer—a steamer has to come along eventually, but it was so quiet—it's eerie. "Antoinette?" Harry squeezed my hand.

"I'm sorry, I'm so tired—" And lost in my own thoughts…

"Well, then, just rest." I don't want to fall asleep now, in fear that I'll lose him. Somehow, I may lose him and I'll be alone. I can't lose someone else. I really can't.

"You'll be right here?" I asked.

"Of course." He paused. "Where do you expect me to go?" He forced a chuckle. "We're surrounded by water." He's right. "But, uh, I'll be here."

"You promise?" Why am I making him _promise_ me something this silly?

"I'll be here." He kissed my hand, and for one moment, the cold hanging in the air disappeared. "Now, sleep." I nodded as everything began to fade away. The darkness almost enclosed me—as if it was swallowing me, and I began to fall victim to the Sand Man…yet again. I yawned, curling up beside Harry.

Why I began to think about the stars overhead, I don't know. But, I began to think. Perhaps those stars are all of Titanic's lost souls going to Heaven. It would explain why there are so many stars, wouldn't it? The souls would include my father, along with Will—and everyone else who lost their lives tonight. Then again, who really knows.

I opened my eyes. No dreams that time, but I realize it's morning now. The light was just beginning to peel up from behind the water. I looked over to where Harry was laying and he's gone. I then saw smoke—green smoke hanging above my head. I looked up and Harry was waving a flare, standing on one of the benches on the lifeboat.

"Let's keep rowing!" Harry's distinct voice called as the officers rowed with more vigor than last night. Obviously, they had some sleep. Where are we going, anyhow? "Antoinette, are you awake?"

"Uh, yeah," I managed to say as I sat up. I'm too groggy. I could see a ship maybe a hundred yards off. The people we had rescued from the water leaned over the lifeboat anxiously, so excited at the possibility of actually being rescued. I glanced around me and lifeboats surrounded us—one was actually upside down and people were balancing on it—everyone was also waving their arms and trying to do anything to get the boat's attention. I could see ants looking over the ship's railing, pointing to the lifeboats. They know we're here!

I could see, written on the side of the black steel in white capitals, CARPATHIA. Oh, what time is it? Who cares at this point! The lifeboats began to follow behind us as we rowed towards the ship. Double doors that I never saw until now, in the middle of the ship, opened and rope, along with ladders came flooding out as crew members of the Carpathia waited for all of us to come. It looked as though they weren't even moving any longer, just waiting for us. There is a God.

A boat in front of us, filled to the absolute maximum with passengers, brought themselves to the side of the ship and after much maneuvering, a woman was the first to climb onto the Carpathia as others followed. Well, at least people are getting onto the ship without _too much_ of a problem. I sighed somewhat with relief. At least we'll be out of this lifeboat, that's a positive within itself.

"Come on, lads, let's quicken up the pace!" Harry shouted as he threw the flare into the water, once he realized it was frivolous to keep waving it about like a maniac. Everything else after that, seemed to be quite a blur and the next time I blinked, we were beside the Carpathia and one of the officers who had been rowing was climbing up the rope ladder very fast. Huh, I wonder why. "You ready, Love?" I turned to see Harry, gesturing to the ladder before holding out his hand to me.

"We're going to _climb_ up _that_?" I asked skeptically, pointing to the unsteady ladder. I don't know if I have the strength.

"We have to," he responded, taking my hand as he stood me up. I must have this sincere look of doubt on my face, for he smiled and said, "Oh, you can do it." He paused. "If those officers could, you know it can't be that difficult. Besides, I'd carry you if I could." I wish he could.

He led me towards the ladder as the officers from the Carpathia kept a steady grip on it. That's reassuring. I took a hold of the rope and began to slowly climb, with Harry behind me. As I kept my eyes on the Carpathia's doorway, I now notice that, standing beside the officers looked to be the Captain. He looked so familiar—I know I've never met him. He sort of looks like a mix between Wilde and Will…Oh, Will. My mind seemed to flash back to last night when Will put that gun to his head. I shuddered at the thought, trying to get the thought past me. I may never.

"Ann, keep going!" Harry urged. Had I _stopped_? I must have, for my feet had stopped moving. I gripped the ladder tighter between my fingers than before and kept on climbing. "There you go, you're alright…" I almost lost my balance and clung to the ladder for dear life.

"I'm going to fall!" I shivered down to him.

"No, no, you won't," Harry reassured me.

"Yes, I will!"

"If you do, I'm right here to catch you. I'm not going to let you fall, Antoinette." I know he won't—I trust him. He wouldn't let me fall. After all of this, why would he?

Continuing to climb, my hands are still numb. Even though the sun seems to be shining, not high in the sky just yet—just shining, and warming everything, it just isn't warming me up. At all.

"There you are, Miss," one officer from the Carpathia said as him and another took my hands and pulled me up onto the ship. It's so nice to be on level ground again—and it's also quite a relief to know that this nightmare is _finally_ over. Or is it?


	32. Chapter Thirty One

"Here you go, Antoinette." Harry handed me a porcelain cup filled with coffee before sitting down beside me on a Carpathia deck chair, a cup for him in his hand.

"Thanks." I took a sip, and although the heat stung the roof of my mouth, I know it's not that hot. Even if my hands may burn from the heat of the liquid, I know it's not that warm. When you're as cold as I was, you'd understand the stinging, tingling feeling I've been having. It starts at the top of your head all the way to your toes and it doesn't really ever want to go away.

"God, what a mess." He gestured around us. Titanic passengers were scattered about the Carpathia's deck, on the ground, wrapped up in blankets from Titanic herself or this ship now—Mostly women are begging for officers with passengers lists if their loved ones are on there, or if there's another ship that picked up passengers. Everyone I knew and cared for isn't on that list, so why bother asking? Some are merely solemn, some are speaking to the people around them, most everyone is sobbing…but it's an absolute mess. It really is.

"This is _awful_," I said softly. "…Everyone's…gone."

"Lightoller made it," Harry said, with a tinge of hope in his voice. Isn't that the officer who told everyone he'd shoot them like dogs? And I quote? "So did a few other officers. But, everyone else is…"

"_Gone_." Silence fell over us and for a mere moment, all I could do was watch as the people around us seemed to break down, both mentally and physically.

"Harry?" We both looked up and standing there, looking completely exhausted was Officer Charles Lightoller—also, as I remember correctly, the same officer I had yelled at to let that little boy have his polar bear. And there he was. "Dear God, I didn't think you made it." He glanced at me. "I didn't think you did either, Miss Andrews."

"Antoinette is fine," I said hoarsely, taking a gulp of the coffee. I mean, after all of this, and even before, with the poker, does he think I care about formalities?

"I didn't think you did, either," Harry managed to say.

"Herbert said you _went back_?" I nodded at him, when Harry merely shrugged, not wanting to take credit for anything.

"Four people," I told him. "That's who we were able to save. Everyone else had already frozen."

"_Nobody_ went back," Lightoller said, shaking his head. "Nobody wanted to be swarmed." Common fear, I suppose. "And now, rumor has it that Bruce Ismay was the one who wanted Titanic at full speed, and ordered her last boilers lit. Can you imagine?" Oh, I can. He sat down beside Harry.

"What does that even have to do with the sinking?" I asked curiously. Why did he get so off-subject, all of a sudden?

"Well, Will had said if we weren't going so fast, we probably would've been able to turn and miss the iceberg completely." He shook his head, as if he was trying to get his mind off of William Murdoch. I know how he feels. "…It was too difficult to turn when the people at the look-out saw—" Harry shook his head at him.

"Whosoever fault it was, I guess it doesn't really matter. She sank, either way."

"But, that does sound like an Ismay move," I agreed.

"Why would he want to go faster, anyway?" Harry asked us. "We were going to make it to New York in time." My mind flashed back to early last night, when the Captain said he thought Ismay would get his headlines, after we all realized the ship would sink.

"He must've wanted press," I thought aloud. As if Titanic didn't have enough! She was the largest moving object ever built. I then shrugged. "I don't know…" I glanced at Lightoller. "Did he even _live_?"

"I haven't seen him anywhere—" He paused. "But it wouldn't be completely shocking if he made it." The cad. He couldn't even go down on the ship like a man. What a coward. "Even if our fine Captain didn't make it—I would place good money on the fact that the _charming_ Mr. Ismay probably did." Lightoller said that with such sarcasm in his voice, that if we had still been on the Titanic, we would've laughed. Instead, we all just shook our heads, as if disgusted. I'm disgusted. I don't know about these two, but I'm absolutely disgusted.

"The Captain always goes down with his ship," I said, breaking the silence. Not necessarily the ship's builder, but the Captain always goes down with his ship. But, really, it wasn't the _Captain's_ ship. It was my father's, he _built_ Titanic from the ground up. Either way, there was no reason for him to die with her. It makes no sense. Then again, nothing seems to make sense.

"Titanic had a fine crew," Lightoller sighed, rubbing his eyes.

"No one deserved to die," I said softly. Harry glanced at me. This sad look appeared on his face before he nodded.

"If only we had had enough lifeboats…" he said, his voice trailing off. Yet again, my mind wandered further back into my memory bank and I found myself on the day before Titanic was to sail out of Southampton, with my father beside me. I remember him distinctively wanting more lifeboats—Ismay didn't. Ismay obviously won that battle.

"She's an unsinkable ship, Miss Andrews! Nothing can sink her!" Ismay had said proudly. I remember giving him this skeptical look, because he then said, "Really, she is." Well, Titanic was not an unsinkable ship, as we all know now. My father knew that, though. Iron _can_ fail.

Ismay, getting back to the point, then proceeded to tell my father that the lifeboats were a waste of deck space and beautiful hardwood. My father had kept his cool, and had said: "To you, Bruce, they are. To me, they keep my passengers content." My father.

"He didn't make it, did he?" Lightoller's British voice pulled me out of my head and looking over at him, I shook my head, bringing my father's coat closer to me.

"He wouldn't leave," I said hoarsely, gripping the porcelain cup tighter than before.

"Thomas Andrews was a true gentleman," Lightoller said, full of remorse. "It's such as shame—" Harry shook his head at him, as if to stop him from making any type of speech as I looked down at Carpathia's deck.

"Not now, Charles," he said simply, beginning to rub circles into my back.

"I am _so_ sorry, Antoinette," Lightoller whispered gently.

"Thank you." I finished the last of the warm beverage. It's not as if I lost everyone. Harry made it. My father just…he was _too_ much of a caring person to take up one seat in any of Titanic's limited lifeboats—He thought someone else deserved the opportunity to live. He deserved to live.

"Well, the lists seem to be getting along…" Lightoller said, changing the subject as his voice trailed off. He fixed his uniform cuffs. "…And in reality, I have nothing better to talk about." He sighed. We've been stuck on a boat for God knows how long, what else _could_ we talk about? I pulled my coats closer to me yet again. I stupidly left those blankets in the lifeboat and although new blankets were being given out like free brandy, I don't think I need them as much as someone else. The coats are enough.

"Miss?" We all turned and a stewardess who seemed to be collecting clothes stood there, her arms full. "Would you like me to take those for you?" she asked, gesturing to my coats. I shook my head. It's the only thing I have left of my father—why would I give it to this complete stranger?

"No, thank you."

"But, Miss—" She's not going to give up, I now realize. "Those _must_ be soaking wet. I can get you brand-new…"

"No!" I shouted at her, so loud that all eyes were on me. No one has anything better to do than watch me throw this stewardess overboard? I took in a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. I rubbed my forehead, covering my face with my hands as Harry put his hand on my back.

"Thank you, but no thank you," he told her gently, beginning to rub circles into my back again. "Miss Andrews is alright for the time being."

"_Andrews_?" She somewhat gasped at that. "Andrews, isn't she…?" Yes, I am the daughter of Thomas Andrews. I suppose I'll have that line attached to me forever, even if and when I marry. Then again, I'm okay with that. But, no, I don't want my father's coat taken away.

"Thank you, but no thank you," Harry repeated, this time between clenched teeth.

"Of course," she replied. As I could hear her walking away, I looked up from my hands to Harry and Lightoller, who both looked to be in a state of shock that I practically broke that woman's neck. I held back my tears. I'm such a wreck. I need to get off this boat.

"I was awful to her, wasn't I?" I asked them.

"Well…" Lightoller's voice trailed off, unsure of what to say. "…It was understandable…" I glanced at Harry.

"Harry, tell me the truth."

"You looked as if you were ready to handcuff her to one of those funnels." He pointed to Carpathia's one funnel, before smiling. I managed a chuckle, thinking of grease ball Bruce Ismay, who said he wanted to handcuff whoever broke that china to a pipe! Then again, I suppose he'll never know who did that now, will he? "She just wanted to help," Harry tried to say after some moments of silence passed.

"Don't stick up for that stewardess," Lightoller said, sighing.

"She wasn't taking _his_ coat," I told him simply. "She just…She just wasn't." Harry shook his head at me, brushing a few strands of hair out of my face. If I can't have my father, the least I can have is his wool coat.

"And she's not going to," he reassured me. "I'll guard it with my life." I'm taking him up on that promise. I managed a nod, my thoughts, for some reason, going back to Ismay. Every time I hear the word handcuff, I think of him threatening to chain someone to a pipe. What if he didn't make it? Wait, why am I so worried for him? He used to give me these scandalous glares and I felt so uncomfortable around him, I never wanted to be left alone in the same room with him—and yet, I'm _worried_?

And as much as Ismay creeped me out and as much as I despised him for making everything with my father a complete and utter battle when it involved Titanic, I almost hope he lived. If Titanic sinking is really his fault, I want him to suffer. I may go to Hell for saying that and I just may for even _thinking_ it, but the rumor that he ordered the Captain to speed up the ship sounds too much like Ismay to _not_ be true. Then, the Captain, so sick of Ismay harassing him, may have just done it to shut the President of the White Star Line up. And we all had to pay for it.


	33. Chapter Thirty Two

Night fell over us on the Carpathia many hours later. The day had passed so slowly and through all of it, it's still almost as if I'm walking through a dream, as if I'm in some parallel universe and I'll wake up any moment. Well, I haven't woken up yet.

I barely spoke to anyone and that shell I had been locked in for so long before I met Harold Lowe, that shell was back. The truth is, I _miss_ my father. Too much. I miss him too much—That on top of William Murdoch putting a bullet through his skull is all too much to bear.

As I walked down Carpathia's deck, mostly everyone who was in second or third class, who had taken refuge on the deck, was asleep—and I tried to stay as quiet as I could. I don't even care that I was first-class on the Titanic, it doesn't matter. I went towards the Carpathia's railing and leaned against it. I tried not to look, but I did. I looked down at the water.

Damn water. That water killed everything, it seems. It took Titanic down, it took passengers down—It just took everything. And for what? So, we can all have awful memories of Titanic's maiden voyage? Nothing was proved by the ship sinking except for the fact that the White Star Line may now put lifeboats on their crafts to account for _everyone_ aboard, and not just follow the regulations.

My father tried. He did. He put more lifeboats than required on Titanic and was able to hold his ground long enough for Ismay to back off. Ismay. I rolled my eyes. I need to stop thinking about that jerk, that alcoholic scumbag! Oh!

"Can I take your name please, Love?" I glanced to my right and standing there was an officer from the Carpathia, a pencil and a pad of paper in his hand. I had seen him all day collecting names, but he never made his way to Harry and I. And I thought we were in the middle of the chaos. I suppose we weren't.

"Uh, Andrews. Antoinette Andrews." He nodded, scribbling down the name before looking up at me. He cocked his head, as if he was trying to place me. "Fifth Officer Harold Lowe made it also," I murmured. Have I mentioned how much I hate to be stared at? Well, I just _had_ to be stared at right now. Look at the water, look at the people around us—Just don't look at me.

"Oh, I've got him down, Miss Andrews," the officer said. "Thank you, though." I shrugged.

"…Just trying to help," I said softly.

"I appreciate it." He paused, clearing his throat. "I know how inappropriate this is and I realize how traumatic these past two days must have been for you, but would you mind my asking…?" He's not going to ask if I'm Thomas Andrews's daughter, is he? I glanced down at the sea. He may just need to be thrown overboard and used as an example to anyone else on board this ship to _not_ ask me about my now-deceased father. "Are you the daughter of the Master Shipbuilder, Thomas Andrews, who built Titanic?" I knew it was coming, why didn't I expect it? I managed a nod. "Oh, oh." He stopped. "I'm very sorry for your loss, Miss Andrews." I don't even know this officer and yet, he's giving me his condolences?

"Thank you," I said softly, refusing to look him in the eye. I don't want to burst into tears in front of a complete stranger.

"Well, then—thanks again." With that, he brushed past me. I kept my eyes locked on the water, gripping the handrails of the Carpathia as if they were my lifeline. And, of course, it's freezing out here. It's not as cold as it was last night, but it's freezing either way, multiplied because of the wind factor. I sighed, placing my hands into the coat's pockets so they won't freeze to the steel handrails. That's when I felt something. In the right pocket. It feels like a book, but…I took a firm grip of it and pulled it out of my pocket.

It's a simple brown notebook, that looked as if the cover was about to fall off. I opened it, carelessly flipping through the pages. Oh my God. It's my father's. I'd know his handwriting anywhere, in perfect cursive and in straight rows. It's the notebook he always was writing in. The whole book is filled with notes and drawings—drawings of windows, decorative lamps, carpets and everything else in between, all of which I recognized from Titanic. I flipped towards the end of the book and a page is labeled in the right-hand corner. His April 14th notes read as follows:

"Everything seems to be in place—a few more days 'til New York.

Blueprints must be re-drawn, drawn with two rails around ship. It should be three. Fix those coat racks. Lamp in the second-class corridor, near room 45, is crooked. Must be re-screwed." 

And then I saw something completely unexpected.

"Antoinette finally seems to be enjoying herself. We can all thank Officer Harold Lowe for her bubbly attitude. I won't see her until tonight, but I know she's safe."

My heart broke as I read each word. As I flipped back to the beginning of the voyage, he had written every day about me. _Me_. He documented my attitude change, from the beginning of the voyage, even before that, until Titanic's sinking. My eyes welled up with tears. This was his way of caring, I suppose. I managed a smile at the book, gently touching its' yellow pages. I always used to wonder what he wrote in it, I always assumed it was about Titanic and just Titanic, but I'm in here, too.

_"__She seems so unhappy. What can I do?"_ he wrote on April 10th, the day we were to board the ship. I turned to the another day of the voyage. Of course, little notes about Titanic, but on the bottom of the page, like every other page, there was something about me._ "Antoinette laughed for the first time in months tonight, during dinner, with Harold Lowe. She laughed hysterically—like a little girl. I have no idea about what those two were talking about over dinner, and it doesn't matter. My little girl's coming back."_ One lone tear fell from my eye and hit the page. I quickly wiped it away, to not smudge my father's perfect cursive. The page seems to be ruined now, just like everything else.

I turned back to the day of April 14th. I stuck my hand back into my pocket and fished for the pencil my father always had. If the notebook was here, the pencil should be here, too. Right? It is_ his_ coat, after all. Ah-ha. Found it. I pulled it out of my pocket and made a simple line under my father's final note about Titanic. He never got the chance yesterday to write about me. There was just not enough time.

I made a bullet and wrote: _"I admitted I loved Harold Lowe to him."_ Meaning my father. _"He acted as if he wasn't surprised."_ I made another bullet. _"…Punched Ismay in the nose and it cracked."_ I laughed at that before taking in a sharp breath._ "Titanic hit an iceberg tonight. She sank."_ I held back my tears once more, but it was no use. I silently cried, unsure of what to write next in the notebook. My father's notebook. Another bullet, I decided. _"He put me on a lifeboat and before I could say good-bye, he was gone. Jumped off the lifeboat and found him, idling at the smoking room fireplace. He made me leave—telling Harry to put me on a lifeboat. I left him." _I can't believe I'm writing this. _"Titanic sank an hour or so after I got on a lifeboat. It felt so much longer. Harry and I went back to look for survivors—We pulled four people out of the water."_ I stopped, making another line underneath that scribble. _"Titanic sank_." I underlined it and stopped. Maybe if I write that enough, that Titanic sank, it'll eventually sink in. I attempted to put the pencil back into the coat pocket, but it slipped out of my hand and fell over the handrail.

"No!" I yelled at the pencil, reaching over the rail to catch it. I almost got it until a pair of hands pulled me back at my waist, almost causing me to drop the book. I held onto it for dear life as I was pulled away from the handrail. I turned to face the person. Standing there, in all of his exhausted and disorderly glory, was Bruce Ismay. He looks awful. Then again, I suppose I do, too. He dropped his hands from my waist as soon as he realized who I was. I doubt he wants me to hurt him again, because as it is, his nose looks swollen, too. I secretly cheered victory.

"Miss Andrews," he said, looking as if he was seeing a ghost.

"Mr. Ismay," I replied, managing a nod. Lightoller had been right—the rumor had been right. Bruce Ismay had survived the Titanic disaster, the cad.

"I thought you were trying to jump," he said under his breath.

"Saving women as consolation for sinking Titanic?" I hissed at him. He looked up from the deck to me, not uttering a word. "It was you, wasn't it?" I questioned, placing the book back into my pocket. I heard the pencil plop into the water right then. "You ordered the Captain to speed up the ship." He didn't respond, but managed the tinniest nod. I take that as a yes. "I guess you got your press, didn't you?" I want to guilt-trip him now. I really have nothing to lose.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," he said solemnly, shaking his head. "She wasn't supposed to sink."

"If only we had had more lifeboats," I said, with a tinge of sarcasm in my voice. "Too bad, isn't it?"

"All of those people…" He gulped, as if terrified. "…_died_."

"You lived, though." I shrugged a shoulder. "I suppose that's a good thing—We didn't lose anyone _important_." I emphasized on the word, just to make him feel even worse than he already does. Yes, I am definitely going to Hell.

"Miss Andrews, I—" I sighed angrily, trying not to scream in frustration.

"You might as well of just pushed us all off of that ship, Mr. Ismay. As if you deserve the Mister, the dumb formality!" I pointed to the ocean in front of us. "You should be ashamed of yourself!"

"I am," he muttered. "Everyone on Titanic should've lived…"

"But, they didn't. Because of selling value, because you wanted that ship to look spectacular and putting on something for safety wasn't on your priority list. You wanted everyone to feel safe, when in reality, we never were. As it was, my father had to convince you to put lifeboats on Titanic! I bet you were against it!"

"Miss Andrews, I know your father—" I shook my head to stop him.

"He died. You lived. Where's the justice in that?" I stopped, realizing how cruel I was being to him, but he…! I'm furious! "…And I blame _you_ for killing him." I paused. "Don't forget it."

"He was a gentleman," Ismay stammered, "he went down with the ship—"

"Then that must make you a coward! Even William Murdoch died on that ship! People I cared about died and it's your fault!" I pushed him away from me, he, as usual, is too close for comfort and he stumbled back. "Don't act as if your care, because you and I both know you don't give a damn about anyone other than yourself!"

"I'm sorry," he said softly, trying to sound sincere.

"No, you're not. It's not like you can bring him back, can you?" He shook his head.

"No, I suppose not, but I _am_ sorry—" I took him by his shirt collar, bringing him closer to me as he shut his mouth.

"Don't apologize to me. Apologize to everyone who lost someone last night." I cleared my throat. "And I swear to you, I'll make sure you never forget Titanic, her captain, her officers or her passengers. Including my father and William Murdoch." He didn't move, as if he had nowhere else to go, nothing else to do. I'm ready to break his nose again.

"ANTOINETTE!" Harry's voice echoed across the deck and I dropped Ismay's collar as he came into view from the darkness. He saw Ismay and although it looked as if he wanted to stop, but he took my hand, intertwining his fingers with mine. "I was looking for you," he murmured gently, keeping his eyes on me—before momentarily glancing at Ismay, as if he wondered what happened to his nose. "Come on, we'll go. It's too chilly out here for you."

"But, Harry, I—" I gestured to Ismay and Harry shook his head.

"It's not worth it, Ann. Besides, you'll get pneumonia if you stay out here any longer." He turned to Ismay. "And Good-night, Mr. Ismay." I remained silent, and Harry began to drag me down the deck and away from the President of the White Star Line. I looked over my shoulder and Ismay hadn't moved an inch. I'm not even finished blaming him yet. I suppose I never will be finished.

The man we can all blame for Titanic sinking, watched me, his eyes sinking and for some reason, I feel no remorse. This pathetic man had done nothing except hurt all of the people around me. And now, I'll never see some of them again. My father, William Murdoch—and the rest of Titanic's now deceased officers included. My eyes welled up with tears. I'll never see any of them _ever_ again. I feel so alone.

"I hope you rot in Hell," I muttered to him. Harry shot me this look, shocked. I don't care. I'm too furious.

"No need to hope, Miss Andrews," Ismay said softly, turning to me, "I'm already there."


	34. Chapter Thirty Three

"Oh, you did _not_ do that!" I laughed as Harry nodded eagerly. He sat across from me on Carpathia's deck, explaining in detail the way he yelled at Bruce Ismay when he seemed to panic the night Titanic sank. "Well, I still don't believe it."

"You should, Antoinette! It really happened. He kept on yelling at the officers to lower the lifeboats away and I asked him if he wanted to drown everyone—"

"And then he asked you if you knew who he was," I interrupted. He's told me this story how many times now? I have to admit, it never gets boring. He laughed, nodding.

"As if that was supposed to threaten me!"

"Obviously, it didn't."

"No, it didn't." He paused. "I told him that I didn't care who he was, I was an officer and he was a passenger and he needed to get the Hell out of the way, which he did. I almost threatened to drown him _myself_."

I managed a smile, my mind seeming to think back to last night. Even though it's midday now, I had kept my mind on Ismay and what I had told him the night before. Titanic sank almost two days ago. Unbelievable, but true. And I blamed Ismay. Was I wrong in blaming someone? I was angry. I'm still angry, as a matter of fact. I suppose I want someone to blame and Ismay has become that person for me. As awful as it may sound, I now think that if Ismay had not been on board Titanic, she wouldn't have hit that iceberg. Granted, it's just a theory, but it's my theory.

"Love?" I looked up from my hands and nodded at the confused officer.

"What?" Was he planning on telling another story? I don't know if I can handle another tale of that night. Not now.

"You _drifted_." That sounds like something my father would say. Oh, my _father_. I gulped, trying to get my mind off of him. Anything makes me think of him now. It doesn't matter what, when I do drift, somehow, I connect it to my father.

"I'm sorry," I apologized.

"No, no, it's alright, I just want to make sure you're still here." I shouldn't be. I should be with my father and Will. But, Harry…I couldn't leave him by himself. That would surely break his heart. Maybe Ismay was right: maybe I _was_ trying to jump ship. No, no! I was not! I was trying to catch that pencil and now it's gone. I sighed.

"I'm here."

"Hey, you." He reached over to me, taking my hands before squeezing them. "We're going to be fine, you know. We made it through the difficult part of it all days ago."

"I know," I whispered.

"Ann, I know you miss him." I glanced up at him. "Your father."

"Harry, it's okay—" I know he's going to try his best to comfort me, but there's nothing anyone can say or do that can make this situation better.

"No, no," he said, cutting me off, "Just realize that if I could bring him back to you, I would." Oh, how endearing was that? Not even endearing! That right there made me realize how much Harold Lowe cares. I managed a smile.

"I know you would." I sighed, brushing hair out of my eyes.

"Let's talk about something cheery, huh?" he suggested, with that sweet smile of his. I shrugged.

"Alright, what can we talk about?"

"I never got the chance to ask you last night. Why does Mr. Ismay's face look smashed in? It looks like a trolley ran him over…_multiple_ times."

"How would I know?"

"By the way you had him by the collar last night, I thought you had slammed him against the ship's rails! But, to me, he looks like he slammed into a pole—"

"Inevitably drunk out of his mind," I added in.

"Oh, definitely!" He laughed. "But, in all seriousness, what do you think happened?" I bit my lower lip, looking away from him. "Ann." I can't look him in the eye, I'll blurt out what happened. "You know, don't you!?" he asked, laughing.

"I. Do. Not."

"Oh, yes you do. You can't lie, you're awful at it. We learned that from poker. So, what happened to his face? Did some other first-class passenger slam him against a table, in a drunken rage and you just happened to be witness to it?"

"Nothing that interesting," I cooed.

"Then, what? Oh, come on, Antoinette! Don't make me beg!" I laughed.

"You won't believe me even if I told you." He raised an eyebrow.

"Try me."

"Well…I kind of, sort of like…" I paused, taking in a deep breath. "…I kind of _punched_ him." He sat there, in that deck chair, and kept his eyes on me, just staring. He looked as if he was going to fall over from shock. "See, I told you, you wouldn't believe me!"

"How do you _kind of, sort of like_ punch Bruce Ismay?" he questioned, a smirk appearing across his face.

"Well, he was hurting me." He tensed up.

"What?" he asked, suddenly furious, standing up. He glanced around, probably in search of Ismay as his fists clenched. As much as I would like to see him punch Ismay's head in, this is not the time or the place.

"Harry, Harry—No, no!" I took him by the shoulders, pushing him back down into the chair. "Not like _that_." He thought Ismay took advantage of me. Although that's a horrible thought, with Ismay, it's something that nightmares are made of. Even in a corset, I could hurt someone. Harry glanced down at me skeptically. "Do you honestly think I would let him do that?"

"Now that you mention it…" I smiled.

"See?" We sat back down. "What I meant by hurt was my wrist." I held up my wrist, which although it's not black and blue, it's still sore. "When I left the blackjack game, he was pulling me by the wrist back towards my room and every other second, he kept squeezing it tighter and tighter. I actually lost feeling in it for a minute or so…" My voice trailed off.

"And then what?" he asked me, ever-so-curious.

"I tried to compromise with him, but with no luck. He wasn't letting go. So, I proceeded to call him a slime ball—"

"You did not!" he laughed, in disbelief.

"Oh, I _did_. Trust me. He whirled around and once he let go of my hand, I punched him. Harry, I swear to you, his nose cracked! I broke it! There was these seconds of silence and he didn't do anything, but once he realized he was bleeding and was in pain, he went for me, but I ran away from him."

"Wow." He whistled, taking off his officer's hat and putting a hand to his head. "I can't believe you did that."

"I know."

"I mean, that makes my telling him off seem like nothing compared to you." He smiled.

"I'm not even done with the story!"

"There's more?" he asked, hopeful.

"Somewhat. When I started running, he chased me down a few flights of stairs and of course, he was bleeding absolutely _everywhere_, it was quite the mess, and I somehow found myself in the boiler room. I kept on going and ended up in the storage area of the ship." His brow furrowed, as if he was thinking.

"Wait, wait, wait. Is that why you were soaking wet?" he asked, still skeptical. I nodded.

"The iceberg caused all of this water to come gushing into the storage area and the boiler room and I thought I was going to die for a few seconds there."

"Dear God—" He paused, before asking me, concerned, "You're alright, though, aren't you? Nothing hurts?" I shook my head, trying not to smile out of the sweet concern.

"No, no, nothing hurts. I'm fine." Except for the emotional tearing, I'm physically okay. "It was so cold," I murmured. "It was bitter."

"We _were_ in the middle of the North Atlantic," Harry felt the need to point out. I rolled my eyes.

"So, how are we going to outdo ourselves with Ismay?" I asked, changing the subject. "You have to beat me in breaking his nose."

"I don't know, Love. I think I lost that competition."

"I think you did, too." He smiled.

"Who would've thought? You!"

"Didn't think I had it in me?" I questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"No, I just…" He sighed, shaking his head at me. "You're wonderful," he sighed.

"What?" I hadn't expected that. It seemed so random. We were talking about Ismay, for crying out loud and now, he's telling me how wonderful I am? I smiled at him. Even though we've been on the Carpathia for what feels like an eternity, he's got this goofy smile on his face. And even though this horrible thing happened, he's still got a smile on his face.

"You are _wonderful_." He took my hands again. "And even though you punched my employer and probably broke his nose—" I smiled.

"I think I did!"

"Well, I still love you." He teetered on the deck chair, trying to get as close as possible to me. I leaned in closer to him as he nuzzled my cheek with his nose. "Even if you may have lost me my job, I still love you," he said into my ear, before laughing.

"And even though you wanted to drown Bruce Ismay in the water, I still love you," I joked as he kissed me on the cheek. With a few kisses on my cheek, I couldn't stop giggling—this is too ticklish to not laugh about! He kissed the tip of my nose and then made his way to my lips and kissed me. And for one moment, my thoughts were forgotten. Everything that had happened was forgotten for a split second, because of Harold Lowe. I shouldn't be this happy, what about my father and Will…but…He let go of the kiss and looked down at me, this look of confusion on his face.

"Did I do something wrong?" he asked, puzzled. I shook my head, kissing him on the cheek. I had to force myself to do that, and I _love_ Harry.

"No." He didn't do anything wrong, I just don't think I should be happy about anyone or anything right now. He looked skeptical, so I forced a smile. For his sake, no one else's. "You didn't do anything," I reassured him. He can read me like an open book, but he realized that whatever was on my mind, it was not to toyed with and or discussed. Not right now.

"Do you want something to eat?" he asked after I looked away from him. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

"Sure," I answered.

"What do you want? Soup, sandwich—" I shook my head.

"Whatever you're having is fine."

"Alright, then." He stood up, kissing me on the cheek. "I'll be right back. Don't move a muscle!" I opened my mouth to speak, but he was already gone. What's the use in promising him something I can't keep? It's all just an illusion, anyway.

I stood up, straightening my already tattered dress and made my way towards the open ocean. I leaned against the white handrail of the Carpathia and put my hand into my coat pocket just to make sure the notebook was still there. It still is. I thought maybe it had disappeared, just like everyone else.

I pulled out the book and I flipped through it once again. I'll never read it all, I bet, but it's comforting to have found something of my father's—even if that something wasn't what I expected to ever find. I don't think I'll ever be able to part with it now. I sighed heavily. It's already the sixteenth of April. We had managed to get on the Carpathia's yesterday morning, the fifteenth and who knows how many more days until New York. And even glancing down at the notebook in my hands now, I want to fix the dates on what I had written last night. I don't know why, but I think when dealing with something that once belonged to my father—and in one sense, the notebook is still his…it has to be perfect. I shouldn't have even written in it at all. I took the book in my left hand and placed it into the other pocket when I felt a sharp stab go into my side.

"Ow!" I said rather loudly, but looking over my shoulder, nobody noticed. I pulled out the object. Another pencil. I should've guessed! My father was always prepared in that sense. He always would carry two of everything around…two pens, two pencils, two erasers, two sets of blueprints…Why didn't I expect this before? I took the book back out of my pocket and flipped to the next empty page after what I had written last night. I held the pencil tightly between my fingers, not sure if what I want to say in this is even worth it. It's not even mine, I never should've written in it. It's too late now. There's no eraser in this coat—It's not a magic coat, even though I think it has sincerely been a blessing to me.

Shaking, I scribbled the date in the right-hand corner, attempting to follow my father's format. I didn't bother to make a bullet. Instead of saying _him_ this time, when referring to my father, I began to write as if I was talking _to_ him. I don't know why, but…that's how I started it and that's how I'll end it. I kept on writing, more than I thought I would, almost feverishly. It took me practically minutes to finish, but once I did, I stared at almost half a page written in my rather small cursive. I began to read it back, even though I know I shouldn't—I'll just upset myself.

"_If I knew this was to happen, I never would've let you get onto Titanic—no matter how much you wanted to go. If I knew this was to happen, I would've stayed with you, no matter what you said. I would've got to spend my last minutes with you and to me, that would've been priceless. The water could've just taken us away and that would've been it. I didn't want to leave you. I couldn't, but I did."_ That's the worst part. I did leave.I looked away from the book at the water for a mere moment, before turning back to the page. _"I don't want to be alone and right now, that's how I feel. Absolutely and utterly alone. I'm terrified without you here!" _I'm now trying not to cry. Why am I even reading this? I'm just upsetting myself, like I thought I would!

"_I want you to be here," _I continued to read,_ "You deserve to be here…Don't you realize how much I love you? How much I miss you? How could you leave me here?"_ Why am I blaming him? _"We could've started over, all three of us. Mother, you and I. I know you thought about it, you had that look in your eye the moment I suggested it that night._" I held back my tears with all of my strength. _"How can I go on? What life is there when you've lost your only parent, the only one who understood, or tried to understand? How can I go on, even with Harry, when all I think of is you every time I lay my eyes on him—and every time I see him, I think of you and your Ship of Dreams."_ And that's the truth. _"Why did you leave me here, to fend for myself? Daddy, I miss you. I want you to come back. Come back. Please, just…just come back." _I stopped myself. I don't even want to know what I had written at the end, because I know it's unhealthy. But, I read it, against my better judgement. _"I might as well be dead."_


	35. Chapter Thirty Four

I've been in this room for hours, it seems and I just can't _stop_ crying. I want to stop crying, but I just can't. As much as I told myself these past few days that the past is the past, that I can't look back, that I have to keep going—Now, I can't stop crying even if I wanted to. The sadness is overwhelming. My heart seems to be broken and crushed. I want to force the tears in my eyes to go away. I want to put them in a bottle and toss them overboard, but I know it's not possible. I wish it was.

Earlier, this afternoon, after I had read what I had written in my father's notebook—I burst into tears. I was crying so loudly that a stewardess walking about the Carpathia convinced me to go inside. I only went inside, because Harry was nowhere to be seen. She said that there was nothing to cry about—But, she didn't and doesn't know me. If she only knew. Once inside, she had taken me down a long corridor and brought me into an empty passenger room. It looked as though it had never been occupied. She thought it would be a good idea for me to rest, she said. I must look awful. She gave me the key to the door and after making sure I didn't want anything, she left me.

And here I lay. Still on the bed, resting my head on my arm, still unable to control my emotions. I am a pathetic human being and I shouldn't even be here. I miss my father. I truly, really _miss_ him. And poor Will. William Murdoch. I can't believe all of those people are gone. I still think when I open my eyes, they'll be here. We'll still be on the Titanic and everything will be back to normal. Normal isn't even the right word for it, life would just become…manageable again. I wouldn't burst into tears when someone spoke, like I do now, and I would be as happy as I was when I first met Harold Lowe. At this rate, he probably thinks I jumped ship. He hasn't found me yet.

When will this heartache end? I feel so broken, it's ridiculous. I lived, I survived the disaster; I should be happy and thanking the Heavens above me that I'm still here, that the love of my life is still here. But, I can't even think of myself. If only this hadn't happened, if only my heart didn't hurt so much, if only everything didn't hurt anymore…If I could only turn back time. I could have made sure Bruce Ismay didn't get onto Titanic, and then maybe everyone would've survived and it could have just been an unpleasant memory. Now, it's just a nightmare.

I wiped my eyes as more tears strolled down my cheeks. I've never cried this much. _Ever_. As much as I've ever wanted to, I had the strength to control myself. My mother was always in the room whenever I wanted to cry my eyes out. I'm just bawling now and she's not here to tell me to behave. I put a wet finger to my tongue and I suppose that theory's true: tears truly are salty. I sat up slightly, pulling my father's coat tighter around me, his familiar aroma filling me. Oh, he always had this comforting aura about him and…his coat has that same feeling. I may sound insane and I probably am, but he always smelt so wonderful and loving—Just like he was. I looked down at my dress and sure enough, it was completely ruined. It's tattered and worn, completely unfixable, and yet, I don't want to part with it. I laid back down onto the bed, bringing my legs closer to my body as I began to bawl again, my shoulders shaking.

"Antoinette." I heard it simply, said simply and looking up from my arm, hidden in the wool coat, I glanced around the room. There's nobody here, I know. Just that dumb porthole window and the sun shining through it. "Antoinette?" Harry. I knew it would only be so long before he found me. He always finds me. There was a knock on the door. "Are you in there?" I nodded, although I don't know why. He can't see through the door. "Ann?" He knocked on the door again.

"What?" I said as loud as I could, trying not to sniffle.

"What are you doing in there?" he asked, sounding completely confused. "I was looking all over for you." He paused. "Can I…can I come in?"

"No." That answer was definite.

"Ann, come now. You sound as though you've been crying."

"That's not true!" I whimpered, wiping my eyes.

"Antoinette, please, I don't want you to be alone."

"I want to be alone."

"Would you _please_ let me in?" That's when I began to cry again.

"No, just…just go," I begged between my tears.

"Ann." I saw the knob on the door begin to slightly turn and I ran for the door, the key the stewardess had given me in my hand from my coat pocket. I slammed against the door, quickly locking it. "Antoinette!"

"Please, go away!" I begged. He sighed, and the door creaked, as if he was leaning against it.

"I can pick locks, you know," he attempted to somewhat threaten me, through the door. "I taught myself."

"I don't care," I told him.

"Antoinette, please. Don't lock me out." I already have. "I'm here. Please, I don't want you to be in there all by yourself." He doesn't understand. He may try to, but he just _doesn't_. My vision fogged with yet more tears and leaning against the door, I just began to cry even more so than before. Before I knew it, I was on the floor of the Carpathia, crying so softly, and except for the occasional breaths, I was practically silent. "Antoinette." He seemed to speak through the crack in the door. "Don't cry, Love. Don't cry." I looked up at the lock of the door. All I can do is cry. "Please, open the door for me. I want to be with you, to help."

"You can't help me," was all I said. Did I just say that?

"Yes, I can. I know you're upset, just let me in." I didn't respond to that. What else am I supposed to say? Sure, come right on in? I can't even speak to him right now, what could he say to me to make anything feel better? "And besides, the food's getting cold." I sighed.

"I'm not hungry."

"Antoinette, please. Unlock the door. I love you too much to see you go through this alone." It's not a question of _love_. I need to deal with this by myself—I want to cry by myself. I can't be accountable for one other person, not now. "Antoinette."

"Harry, just go away. Please." I took in a deep breath, trying not to overreact. "Leave me alone."

"I'm not leaving," he told me confidently. "I'll stay out here until you decide to either unlock this door or leave the room." He cleared his throat, before saying, "After all of this, I'm not going to let you destroy yourself."

"Fine!" I yelled, anger boiling inside of me. "Stay out there all night, for all I care!"

"Antoinette." I didn't answer him. Instead, I stood up and threw myself onto the bed. I quickly wiggled out of the coat and wrapped it over me as a blanket. "Antoinette, I'm here, you can trust me." He doesn't even sound angry that I yelled at him! Getting back to the point, I do trust him, it's not that. Doesn't he know that? I don't have time to think about him right now. I just don't want to talk, not to anyone. The only person I'd even consider talking to is my father and he's…I gulped. He's _gone_.

My father's gone, I know, and I know Harry's trying to help, but the best thing he can do right now is to leave me alone and let me wallow in my own pain. I closed my eyes, trying to forget all of this ever happened…that Harry isn't at the door, begging to let him in, that Titanic didn't sink, that Will didn't shoot himself—that my father didn't go down with his ship. But, I _can't_ forget and I never will.


	36. Chapter Thirty Five

"What the heck are you doing, son?" That's what I woke up to. I looked up from the comforter of the bed and glanced at the door, the key I had locked it with beside me. I looked over my shoulder and I realize the sunlight is just beginning to come in through that window. I had slept all night like this? Curled up like a child? I sat up, stretching out my legs as I put my father's coat on again. "Do you realize what time it is?" Who is that? I recognize the female voice, but I just can't place her.

"Mrs. Brown, I—" Harry sounded as if he had just woken up.

"Now, now, it's Molly to you." Molly. Why does that name sound so familiar? Oh! Molly Brown! She had survived! Not completely shocking, but it's definitely an upbeat revelation. "What the heck are you doing, lying on the floor?"

"I'm waiting for her," he said hoarsely.

"Waiting for who?" she asked curiously.

"Antoinette." There was a brief silence and Molly cleared her throat.

"_Andrews_?" she asked him. He must've nodded, because he didn't say a word. "I didn't think she made it." Why would she think that? "I asked about her, they said she wasn't on the list."

"Well," Harry sighed, "they never wrote us up on the lists until late."

"What seems to be the trouble, anyway?" she asked him.

"She won't come out of her room. She misses her father too much."

"He didn't make it." She said it as a statement, rather than as a question.

"No, he didn't." Then, there was knocking on the door.

"Antoinette?" she called out to me. She must be the one knocking—it sounds different from Harry's knocking. I should've guessed it before.

"Yes, Mrs.—" I stopped, clearing my throat. No formality. "Molly."

"Do you want to go get something to eat? Me and…" Her voice trailed off.

"Harry," he told her.

"…Harry and I here are going to get some breakfast. Why don't you join us?"

"No thank you," was all I was able to say.

"See?" Harry hissed at her.

"Well, when you're ready, we'll be out and about, won't we, Harry?"

"Mrs. Brown I—"

"Molly!" she laughed.

"_Molly_, I don't want to leave her," Harry tried to explain. "I, I…can't."

"She'll be fine, won't you, Antoinette?" she asked me.

"Sure." I cleared my throat, leaning towards the door more so than before to hear what else they had to say.

"See?" she asked him. "She'll come out when she's ready."

"But—"

"You look famished," she continued, "Come on, Officer. Let's get some food into you." She then tapped on the door to me. "You better hurry up. You may lose a great man!" she laughed. "Don't think my husband would do this!" He _is_ a great man.

"Ann, I'll be back," Harry promised me, sounding as if he didn't really want to leave in the first place. I merely nodded and seconds later, I could hear his footsteps, along with the clicking of Molly's shoes go down the hallway and out of earshot. I stood up, shaky at first and made my way towards the porthole window. I brushed dust off with my sleeve and looked out. Just water. Nothing less, nothing more. I didn't expect much more. When are we supposed to get to New York, anyhow? I haven't been informed and nobody else has, either. I suppose it doesn't matter. It never has mattered, I'm just trying to take my mind off of my father and Will. I held back my tears. How can I possibly have more tears? I thought I must've surely cried my soul out yesterday. I suppose not. I leaned against the ship's wall, the fluttering of the water tapping lightly against the window. I hate the sea. I really do. And I don't think the sea is too fond of me, either.

I brushed hair out of my eyes, glancing at the door that led to the outside. I have to leave this room eventually. My stomach growled in agreement. I suppose he's right, too. I can't stay in here forever, as much as I may want to. I sighed, untangling my hair from my pointer finger. I must look like a rag doll—I feel like one. And yet, Harry…He doesn't care. He doesn't look all that great, either. I'm lucky, at this point, that I can remember my name—let alone his. I smiled, remembering how much fun we had on Titanic. What am I doing?

Antoinette Andrews, what are you doing!? You're acting as if you lost Harry, too! I didn't, I know I didn't. I just lost myself. I lost a piece of me, a piece of my heart, and that piece is still on the Titanic. I may never regain it, either. As much as I may try, when I put this whole ordeal behind me, to get myself back to where I was before Titanic sank—I never will. It's not possible. I'll never be the same. Even if that's what I want, to be the same dumb child I always have been, I'll never be that person again.

I went back towards the bed and sighing, I sat down on its' edge, rubbing my tired and puffy eyes. With every moment, I hear the water outside and I think of my father. My father and Will. Will, Will, Will…I laid back onto the bed, keeping my eyes locked on the ceiling. What did he _do_? He could've lived. If only I had fallen for him. Wait. I sat up on the bed, leaning on my elbows. What did I just say, think? I love Harry! Harold Lowe loves me. I know he does. But, poor Will—I had brushed him off when he was attached to me. I think he was _in love_ with me. I'm not saying I'm just that beautiful, that every man I meet immediately loves me, but from the minute I met Will, he had this goofy smile on his face. Then again, so did Harry. I guess he just…_panicked_. There were better ways to handle the panic, though. He didn't have to go and shoot himself. As it is, I practically shot him. I laid back down on the bed, bringing the coat closer to me.

He pulled the trigger, though—Not me. It felt like I did, though. To be truthfully honest, I felt as if I had told him that killing himself would be the best thing for him. When he just _fell_ into that water, that image will never leave me. As much as I may say that, it's all the truth. I closed my eyes, trying to get those memories to leave. I want to be happy—Am I asking for the moon? The stars? No, I'm not! I just want to move on. Or do I? I nodded. Yes, I do. And once I get to New York, maybe, just maybe…it'll all go away.


	37. Chapter Thirty Six

"Antoinette, you can't stay here on account of me." Objects began to fly past me, down the smoking room's carpeted floor, away from me. People were screaming. Tables and chairs began to topple, and my father just stood there, at this extreme tilt, holding onto the fireplace for dear life, but only with one hand. "Go." He pointed to the door, that led outside. "Go on, honey. Go."

"I'm not leaving," I said simply, planting my feet deeper into the carpet than before.

"You need to go on." He sighed, taking a few steps towards me. "This isn't sane."

"Daddy, I'm not leaving!"

"Antoinette, go. I will drag you out there myself if I have to—"

"Then, we can both get on a lifeboat! That's a great idea! Come on—" I took his hand and began to drag him towards the door. He didn't move an inch, but pulled me out of the way from a rolling cart that came through the doorway.

"I'm not going with you," he said softly.

"Dad, no…Not again," I whimpered.

"You know that I can't. You, you, you." He took my hands and squeezed them. "You need to go on."

"Not without you," I pestered on.

"He'll take good care of you."

"Who?"

"Harold Lowe, of course!" laughed a familiar voice. We both looked in the direction of the voice and standing there in full uniform was Will.

"Will?" I then practically shrieked, "Will!" I ran towards him, throwing myself into his arms and hugging him as tight as I could. I kissed him on the cheek, not wanting to let go. He didn't die.

"Antoinette, what are you doing? What are you even doing here?" he asked me, hugging me back before letting go.

"What are _you_ doing here? You died!"

"No, I didn't," he laughed. "Come on, let's take you back…" He took my hand and began to lead me towards the doorway of the smoking room.

"No, no, no! Wait!" I turned back to my father. "We're not leaving without him."

"Yes, you are," my father disagreed. "Go on, Will, take her back to where she belongs."

"Daddy, no!" My eyes welled up with tears as he glanced down at his pocket watch. "No."

"There's only so much time left," he said, with half a smile.

"Who cares?" I asked him. "Who cares?"

"I do," Will said, taking my hand again.

"So do I," my father added. I kept my eyes locked on him.

"I want to be here with you," I told him.

"You're going to miss your ship to New York," my father conjured on.

"So?"

"You're going to be there in a day or so," he said, but it was as if he wasn't talking to me, just to the room. "Antoinette." For some strange reason, amongst all of this panic, he smiled at me. "Go be with Harold."

"Dad…" Tears rolled down my cheeks as he teetered towards me, wiping them away.

"Oh, honey, don't cry," he said soothingly.

"I can't help it!" I sniffled. "Come with me—"

"If you don't go, who else is going to read that book?" What is he talking about?

"What book?" He looked surprised, as if he thought I'd know what he was talking about. I don't.

"My book." The notebook…? That must be it. "The notebook," he said, with a proud smile, "on Titanic."

"You knew?" I asked. "You knew you gave it to me?"

"No. I did when I realized I didn't have it. You take good care of it for me, okay?"

"Please," I begged, letting go of Will's hand and hugging my father tightly, "Please don't make me leave."

"Antoinette, it's not time." I looked up from him as he stroked my hair. "It's not time for you, yet. It's not time for either of you yet."

"What?" I asked, completely puzzled.

"It's not time for Harold or you. You two have your life to live. Don't they, Will?" I glanced over my shoulder at Will, who nodded with this bright smile.

"Yes, sir," was his response.

"But, if I go, I'll never see you and I can't leave without you—"

"Oh, Antoinette, that's not true. You can go on."

"No, I, I…I _can't_."

"Yes, you _can_." He paused, smiling down at me. "And you _will_ see me."

"Wh—when?"

"When you come home."

"Home?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Home," my father repeated, with a nod. "You'll understand, in due time."

"I don't want to understand! In due time?! What the Hell does that mean!?" I glanced over my shoulder at Will, who looked just as confused as me. "I want to stay with you! I don't care about the future!" I wrapped my arms about his neck once again and my father chuckled. Why is he laughing!? This is not the time to be laughing!

"Ann, Ann," he laughed, hugging me back, "You and Harold are going to be so happy, you'll see. Go be with him. Spend as much time with him as you can, before it slips away." I hear him, but I'm not comprehending any of it.

"Harry got on a lifeboat," I murmured, "He's fine." He's the one who isn't fine!

"And so did you. Go find Harold, alright?" He sighed, his smile not seeming to fade. "Antoinette, darling, don't you remember what I told you?" I looked up at him, clueless. "I will always be with you." He kissed me on the cheek. "And I never break a promise, honey." He smiled, brushing hair out of my eyes. "I never break a promise." And that's when I woke up.

I was shaking and as I sat up from the bed, I felt hot liquid pouring down my cheeks. I wiped my eyes. Tears. Not surprising. My heart is pounding. Dear God. I wiped the beads of sweat from my forehead and attempted to calm myself down. What was _that_? What just happened? One minute I was thinking about Will and the next, I'm back in that damn smoking room. That dream felt so real, I could've sworn I was back on that ship. I could feel Titanic tilting, I could hear the screams of all of those people, I _know_ I hugged my father and touched Will…How will I ever get to sleep after that catastrophe? I thought I'd never be able to sleep after I left my father, but now, I may become an insomniac. Great. I turned my legs over to the side of the bed and rubbing my forehead, I looked up at the porthole window. It's dark now.

"Alright, alright," I said aloud to my father, in the big empty room. Maybe he can hear me, after all. "I'll take your advice." He _was_ right—even in my lucid dream. "I'll go find Harry." I stood up and searching for the door key, I found it at the bottom of my coat pocket and walked towards the door. I shoved the key into the door, feverishly unlocking it and I swung the door open, expecting Harry to be there. He's not. Huh.

I took a step out into Carpathia's hallway, and looked down the corridor on my left. Nothing. My right. Still nothing. What about his, "I'll be back, Love" line? Does he not listen to his own promises? I glanced over my shoulder, back at the room I had been occupying for the past…two days. Has it been that long? I merely looked just to make sure I had everything. I do. The bed looks to be a little messy, but that's not my problem at this point. Time to find Harry.

I began my way down the hallway in front of me, unsure of where I'm going. I wiped my eyes with my sleeve. I must look awful, but I haven't passed anyone. Nobody's screamed in fright yet—but, the night is still young. What am I doing? I'm searching for someone on a ship with at least two-thousand people on it, if not more! I have no idea of where I'm going and yet, I have this unbelievable idea that I may actually find Harold Lowe. I have truly lost my mind. I almost feel as if I'm on the Titanic again, but I pushed that thought away and out of my mind. I must keep focused on the task at hand: finding Harry.

I went down hallway after hallway, looking in every open room—only to find confused passengers staring back at me. I apologized to so many people and it's only been ten minutes, maybe fifteen, of this little journey. Maybe I'd be better off going on deck and looking for him. He might be there. If not, maybe Margaret Brown is up there and she might have an idea of where he is. Who am I kidding? I probably won't see either of them. Harry's probably sleeping by now. Who knows how late it is. The night is merely young for me, probably no one else. Harry probably took up residence in the officers' quarters or a spare room—but more than likely, a spare room. He was okay on the floor outside my room, he just needed a chair.

"I know how to operate this!" shouted a familiar voice. I turned immediately and stopped myself. "Come on! This is ridiculous!" I began to follow the voice and there was more talking. I know the voice—It's not Harry's, but I know the voice. It sounds so familiar, I just can't place him. I walked towards the open door of a room where all of the commotion seemed to be and silently peeked my head through the door. The Marconi operating room. "Blimey, Lowe! Give us a second, would ya!?" Harold Bride! The poker player, one of the Marconi operators from the Titanic! He survived. It's nice to know those lifeboats saved _some_.

He's sitting in a room beside another man I don't know—perhaps the operator for the Carpathia—headphones about his neck, as the other man began to tap away, reading from a piece of paper. And standing there, beside Bride, in full officer's uniform was Harry.

"You have nothing better to do than torture Harold?" I asked through the doorway. Bride and Harry turned and both of them burst into a smile. The other Marconi operator didn't even hear me. Those headphones are truly soundproof.

"Antoinette." Harry had said it as if he had been in a dream, so dazed. Bride took the lead at that point, before his counterpart could say anything more.

"Antoinette Andrews!" Bride stood up and ran towards me, only to practically choke himself with his headphones. He blushed a tomato red and throwing the headphones onto his chair, he pulled me into the room before hugging me. "It is so nice to see a familiar face!" I just played poker with him! I barely know him and yet, I hugged him back—completely thrilled to see him, too.

"Aw, it's nice to see you too, Harold," I laughed as we dropped the hug.

"Wasn't sure if you made it," he said, trying not to blush crimson. "You are the best poker player this side of the water, I swear to you!"

"And they've got you working?" I gasped jokingly, pointing to the table. "This is unbelievable! You should be lounging!" He laughed nervously.

"Oh, it's nothing I can't handle, I assure you." I smiled.

"Mind if I steal away Officer Lowe?" I asked, taking Harry's arm.

"Go right ahead. Keep him out of here, would you? He's harassing us." I smiled and pulled Harry out of the room, into the rather bright hallway. "And stay out for the night!" he laughed, shutting the door behind us. As soon as the door clicked shut, I wrapped my arms around Harry, trying not to cry.

"Oh, Ann, what is it?" he asked gently into my ear.

"I love you _so_ much," I whispered. He managed a slight chuckle, a chuckle of pure confusion.

"I love you, too," he replied, puzzled. He unlocked the hug and saw that I was crying. I'm crying…_again_? Alright, I'm getting ready to knife my eyes out. "Oh, Antoinette, there's no reason to cry. I'm right here."

"I know you are and I pushed you away and—" He shrugged a shoulder, wiping my tears away gently with his fingertips.

"Who cares?" he asked, with a smile.

"But…" My voice trailed off as he kissed my cheeks, where my tears had fallen these past few days, so sweetly.

"But nothing," he said, touching my right cheek. "And look at that." I looked down and an eyelash was on his finger. "An eyelash." He looked at me, smiling. "Aren't you going to make a wish?"

"What?"

"You're supposed to make a wish whenever an eyelash falls out. You blow it away and your wish comes true."

"You believe that?" He smiled.

"At this point, I believe anything." He laughed. "Go ahead, make a wish." I sighed. I'll play along. About to make that dumb eyelash disappear, he shook his head. "No, no. Close your eyes and make a wish." I laughed at myself, more than him. Alright, alright. What to wish for, what to wish for…My mind went back to my dream, when my father commented on how happy Harry and I would be, that we'd have to wait and see. I smiled.

I wish Harry would find it in his heart to forgive me for telling him to go the Hell away—and may we live that happy life my father wants us to. I blew away the eyelash and opened one eye and then the other.

"Is it gone?" I asked.

"Sure is." He smiled at me. "Now, what did you wish for?"

"I thought you weren't supposed to tell what you wished for!" I giggled. He shrugged.

"We can change tradition, you know!" He stopped. "Now, tell me, what did you wish for?" My eyes glazed with tears. "Oh, come now, don't cry," he begged, tiredly laughing. "Whatever it is—"

"I wished you would forgive me." He glanced down at me, furrowing his brows. I'm confusing him so much.

"_Forgive_ you? For what?"

"For yelling at you to go away."

"I don't give up easily, Antoinette, you know that!" I smiled. "…And if you thought I would forget we ever met because you wanted time alone, you're insane." He pulled me into his arms. "Then again, I'm not that sane myself."

"You're not angry?" I asked skeptically. He shook his head.

"My Love, consider your wish granted."


	38. Chapter Thirty Seven

"Antoinette?" I refused to open my eyes. I'm too tired, I am just _too_ exhausted. Whatever it is, it can wait. "Antoinette, I think we're here." Apparently, this can't wait. What's he babbling about?

"Where?" I asked softly, snuggling closer to my pillow.

"New York."

"New York?" I mumbled, confused. Where's New York?

"New York, New York," he laughed, "New York City, Sleeping Beauty!" Oh, _that_ New York. There's only one. I ignored him, getting even closer to my pillow and stopped—when I realized that my pillow has a heartbeat. Oh, that's not normal. I forced myself to open one eye and then the other. I quickly looked around.

Oh, I'm back in that room the nice stewardess had let me stay in. Well, although my memory seems awfully fuzzy now, I remember coming in here last night after Harry and I had roamed the deck half the night, but we were so tired, we retired in here. "Ann?" I looked down at my feet and saw two familiar legs beside me. Harry. Had to be. It sure as Hell wasn't Bruce Ismay. I glanced up at him momentarily and he was laying beside me, half-awake himself, his officer's hat over his eyes. So, I suppose we fell asleep in here. Oh, the scandal! The gossip, even!

"Why hello there," he laughed at me, myself still laying on top of his chest. His uniform is so wrinkly, I now notice. Alright, he needs a new uniform, I think, by now—or it needs to be dry-cleaned badly. I didn't move from my spot, my right ear hearing nothing by his steady heartbeats and breaths. How comforting this is. It's nice to know he has a pulse. He ran his hand up and down my back once or twice, trying to get me awake, kissing me on the cheek.

"Hi, Harry," I yawned, rubbing my eyes. "Okay, you must be so uncomfortable."

"No, not really." I looked up at him, managing to sit up, his arm around me dropping to his side. "It's not everyday I wake up to someone as beautiful as you." I laughed out loud to that.

"Too early, my friend, too early for compliments!" I joked, brushing a few stray stands of hair from my eyes. "I'm surprised I didn't crush you." He sat up to face me, shaking his head.

"No, you're a petite little thing. But, I must admit, you look like a porcelain doll when you're asleep. I didn't even want to wake you up!" I smiled.

"Then, why did you?"

"I think we're in New York. If not, we should be getting into the harbor any minute now, anyway…" His voice trailed off as he looked down at his watch before me.

"Your watch is wrong," I reminded him, taping on the glass timepiece. "Remember?"

"I had it fixed." He paused, before saying with a smile, "Probably while you were breaking Ismay's nose." I laughed at that. "Besides, the engines stopped." I stopped moving around, listening closely—and sure enough, the familiar noises of the ship had vanished. "Come on," he urged, "we'll go see."

"Go see _what_?" I questioned. He stood up from the bed, fixing his uniform, attempting to straighten it as much as he possibly could.

"We'll go and see if we're close."

"Oh, Harry, what about the gossip?" I suddenly gasped at him. "I couldn't possibly face anyone I know on deck!" I smiled.

"What gossip?" he asked, clueless.

"We were in here _all night_." I emphasized on the last two words as he pulled me up and off of the bed.

"And you point is?" he asked, with a smirk, pulling me with a kiss.

"The scandal!" I laughed. "As if someone would notice." If only my mother knew I had spent the night with a gentleman caller. She would throw any available, sharp object at me if she knew. She would inevitably _kill_ the "gentleman caller" and throw his body into the ocean, to never be seen or heard from again. Oh, she'll find out. It's just a matter of time.

"Come on, Ann." He took my hand. "If we're not in New York, maybe we can see the harbor." He smiled. "Or, maybe we'll get to see the Statue of Liberty."

"It's a statue of some woman," I yawned, with a laugh. "What else is there to see?"

"It's a national landmark, Antoinette!" he laughed, beginning to drag me towards the door before opening it.

"Harry, I don't care about some national landmark! I'm tired!"

"You need fresh air," he decided over his shoulder as we began to walk down a hallway, before swinging a left.

"Do you even have an idea of where you're going?" I laughed.

"Actually…" His voice trailed off.

"Should I take that as a yes or no?" I questioned.

"Take it as you want!" he laughed, continuing down the corridor. Well, every hallway we've been down is empty. Curious, maybe even peculiar. I know for a fact we're not the only ones on the Carpathia—we could, however, be the only ones roaming about this early in the morning.

"What time is it, anyway?" I asked him.

"My watch is wrong, remember?" he joked with me.

"Harry…" My voice trailed off as we continued down the hallway, before going up a flight of stairs, and then another. "I am not trained in taking stairs!" I breathed, laughing.

"Consider it training!" he laughed, not looking over at me. I couldn't stop giggling, and neither could Harry. This is ridiculous! We're running through some ship we don't know, and we're acting as if we own the place. We went down a few more hallways and ended up taking a right, towards a door to the outside. He pulled me out onto Carpathia's deck, and his shoulders somewhat slumped. People were walking about and I immediately looked for any sign of intelligent life off of this ship. Nothing. Just water.

"Okay, we're not there yet," I sighed.

"No, I guess not," he replied. That's when I heard a rumble and looking down at my feet, I saw the planks of the deck shudder. Then, I heard the gurgling of the engines begin to start and glancing over my shoulder, Carpathia's one funnel began to smoke. "Why did they stop the engines, then?" he asked aloud, to no one in particular. Who knows. I shrugged a shoulder.

"Ran out of coal?" I suggested weakly. That's when raindrops began to fall from the sky, but I ignored them. They're slight and small. Whatever seems to be brewing doesn't have a chance at this point, no matter how gray the sky looks.

"I have no idea. Charles told me today we would get to New York—"

"Delays happen." He stood there, almost disappointed. "Harry, we'll get there," I promised him. "If not now, later." It's not like we're so far away, we're just close. Close enough to make everyone, including Harry, extremely anxious.

As for myself? I'm not sure if I'm anxious or merely weary of leaving the Carpathia. I'd love to get onto solid ground again, away from water—but, I don't know if I can handle going into New York. I'm sure there's already been such a commotion about Titanic, if they even know. Does anyone know? Of course they do! Why else would they have Harold Bride working?

"Harry?" I squeezed his hand as the rain began to fall harder and harder around us. I suppose I was wrong on this account to. It's going to storm. As long as there's no thunder, I'm okay— "It's going to pour!" I tugged on his hand, trying to get his attention. He seems to be in his own little world. I need him _with me_, not on another planet!

"Oh." He stopped, looking down at me. "Oh, oh! I'm sorry, where am I? Come on, let's get you inside." He wrapped an arm around me and we ended up back inside, where a few other passengers, that I didn't recognize, spoke amongst themselves, pretending not to watch us. Well, they _are_ watching and right now, I could care less.

"Harry, is there something the matter?" I asked him curiously. He smiled down at me.

"Why would there be, Love?"

"You seem so…_anxious_."

"Well, I am. Aren't you?" I shrugged a shoulder. Kind of, I am.

"I suppose."

"You _suppose_?" he asked skeptically, hiding a smile. "Antoinette!" he laughed.

"Harry, I don't know. It's too early to be asking me something like that—"

"It's the middle of the afternoon," he stated.

"See? Too early!" I gestured to the hallway we had come here from. "I'm ready to go back to sleep. I am exhausted and—"

"Are you hungry?" he asked me suddenly. I glanced down at my empty stomach, forced in by my dumb corset. It didn't even growl, but sure, I could take something to eat right about now.

"Somewhat. You?" He shrugged a shoulder.

"Kind of. Food is something we can talk about," he laughed. Now, in my mind, thunder never happens, but I just heard a tiny growl and it wasn't my stomach. It was from the outside. I am trying in vain not to panic, but now, the thunder seems to bolt around me and I jumped immediately. Okay, Antoinette and thunder are never a good combination! I'm deathly afraid of thunder and lightening, did I ever mention that? I never had to—It hasn't really rained this hard before! As if this whole experience hasn't been frightening enough. Now, I've got thunder to deal with? Great, just fantastic!

Lightening flashed through the windows and a loud crash, the same almost failing sound I had heard when Titanic cracked in half, echoed through the room and I screamed. I could feel all eyes on me and I covered my eyes with my hand, beginning to walk into the hallway, where Harry and I had come from merely minutes before. I need to get back into my room, so I can calm my nerves. I'll cover the window with a blanket and—

"Antoinette?" Harry pulled me out of my mind and I glanced at him. He's following me, puzzled. Another crack of thunder and I jumped, running into Harry's arms, hiding my face in his chest. "Ann, what is it? You look like you've seen a ghost! It's just, it's just thunder."

"I am absolutely…" I gulped, trying to calm down my rapidly beating heart. "…_Petrified_ of thunder."

"Are you, now?" he asked. "I never would've guessed." He managed a smile as I looked up at him. His smile faded when he saw me. I must look petrified, because, well, I am. "Ann."

"Seriously, Harry, I—" Another rumble as I got closer to him. "I'm _terrified_."

"The thunder's not going to hurt you," he tried to reassure me.

"I know, I know…" My eyes welled up with tears. I don't want to have a panic attack, not here, in the middle of some ship corridor!

"Alright, alright, Love." He kissed my head sweetly, wrapping an arm around me. "We'll go back to the room and we can wait for the storm to pass. How's that?" I managed a nod, hiding my head in his overcoat, trying to block any noise from passing into my ear canals and into my truly demented mind. "I'm right here," he reassured me as we made our way towards our room. "I…uh, I had no idea, Antoinette."

"It's okay," I said softly, clinging to him as tightly as I could, trying not to step on his feet as we kept on walking. "You didn't know."

"I didn't ask." I managed a sigh.

"It's not everyday you meet someone with a stupid fear of thunder."

"It's not stupid," he said, trying to sound pleasant, "nothing that you fear is dumb. It's a fear for you and that makes it important." More thunder and I let out another scream. "Antoinette, I'm not going anywhere," Harry told me confidently. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you." The worst part of it all? My father was always the one who comforted me during these storms and he used to say the same thing. And in truth, I can hardly breathe without him.


	39. Chapter Thirty Eight

Thunder. Of all things on this Earth, why did it have to be thunder? My heart just won't stop beating so fast, as if I had run a marathon. It sounds like my heart may explode from my chest at any moment. With every sound of thunder or crack of lightening, my mind goes back to my father. My mother was never one to put up with one of my supposed phobias, she thought I was merely using the thunder as a way to get attention. Why would I use this as a way to get attention? I had enough attention from everyone around me. My father alone, managed to practically smother me when I was a child. I think he was so giddy to have a daughter, that he couldn't think straight.

"_You need to get over it,"_ my mother would say. _"Real women learn how to deal with nature and everything that comes with nature."_ Well, then, just shoot me for having a soul and being afraid of something in this world. Besides, my father was the only one who actually knew this fear was real. It's as real as each new day.

I remember distinctively, when I was maybe seven or eight, my mother had gone out, and it had started to rain. The thunder began and I panicked, couldn't find my father, and ended up hiding under my bed. I don't know why this incident sticks out in my mind—every time it rained or was predicted to rain, my father never left the house or wherever we were, he always stayed close by. I already miss that. I glanced up from my tea that Harry had gotten me to him, and he has the same look on his face that my father always did during the storms. Anticipation, as if he was waiting for me to flip. I haven't yet. Anyhow, during that whole Antoinette-hid-under-the-bed incident, my father had to practically drag me out of there and we sat in the living room, him being the sweet man I knew and loved so much, until the rain stopped. I used to think the sky would fall down on me, enclose me and that would be that. I know the thunder can't hurt me, it's just a fear. A phobia. Whatever you'd like to call it, I panic.

I have no idea what time it is, but the storm has been going for a good hour or so, if not longer. The thunder seems to have dissipated. I really thought for a while there that it wouldn't stop and I just found myself hiding in Harry's arms. He had no idea what to do, but he did his best to comfort me and I sincerely love him for that. I think he feels guilty, for not realizing the terror I have over thunder, but he compensated for it, more so than he had to. He didn't know, but he made everything alright, like he always seems to do.

Thinking back, when storms came, my father and I used to count how many times the thunder roared. He always said it meant the storm was just that much closer to being over. My father. Thomas Andrews. I sighed. I know he wants me to somehow go on—Unless that dream was an extreme hallucination…Either way, he'd want me to go on. That was his nature: don't worry about me, just go on. I'll be fine. But, he's not fine. He's dead.

Harry had convinced me to try to sleep after about twenty or so minutes of there not being any thunder. He thought it would be a good idea, probably as a way to calm me down. Well, I was tired, anyway, because I didn't argue. The thunder had panicked me so much, and now, I was just exhausted from the mental trauma. There I was, wrapped up in who knows how many blankets in that bed, and not to mention, my father's coat—and Harry was just sitting in the only chair in the room, his head on the bed, half-asleep himself, his hand holding onto mine. He looked so handsome, I couldn't even believe it. That's how I dozed off and it was sure Heaven. The next thing I know, Harry was shaking me awake.

"Love?" he asked sweetly. "Love, I think we stopped." Oh, no, not again.

"Harry, I'm sure we didn't, please—"

"No, Antoinette, really. I can see the lights of the city." I sighed, not wanting to open my eyes.

"I don't believe you," I mumbled. He laughed, moving from the chair next to the bed to the bed itself, sitting down beside me.

"The engines stopping jolted me awake." He nuzzled my cheek, kissing me a few times, forcing me to open my eyes and hold back my fit of giggles.

"Are you sure it wasn't the rain?"

"It's not raining anymore, Love," he said, shaking his head before smiling at me. That sweet smile. I can't take it, he knows I can't! He uses it against me. "Let's go see if we're here."

"You're so anxious!" I yawned. He ignored that.

"And no more thunder," he said cheerfully, brushing hair out of my eyes. "We've got nothing to lose by going to see."

"Yes, we do," I argued tiredly, "my sanity."

"Come now!" he laughed, standing up. "Don't you want to see New York?"

"Not really." Suddenly, I was lifted up and out of bed! I almost screamed, out of pure shock!

"I'll carry you there, if I have to," he jokingly threatened.

"Harry, put me down!" I giggled, wrapping my arms around his neck, holding on for dear life. "You're going to give me a concussion!"

"Can we go on deck?" he asked, anxious. I didn't answer, too scared for my life to think of anything reasonable to say.

"Please, just put me down!" I laughed, hiding my face in his neck.

"I'm not going to leave you in here, so you've got to come." He kissed me on the cheek once or twice, trying not to laugh himself. "How's that for an argument?"

"Alright, alright!" I exclaimed.

"Alright, _what_?" he asked, with a smirk.

"We'll go up on deck."

"Now, I don't want to force you—"

"Harry, good God, I want to go!" I said, almost frantically.

"Thank you." He let me down and I straightened out my dress. "I wasn't going to drop you," he reassured me.

"Oh, sure," I replied, sarcastically. He shrugged.

"You don't weigh that much."

"You're not ever supposed to comment on a woman's weight!"

"Woman?" he questioned, pulling me in closer to him. "I don't see any women here. Just you." He laughed and so did I, before he kissed me on the lips. And even through all of these kisses, he still takes my breath away. How pathetic is that? I smiled at him. "And I got you to smile. Now, you owe me." He took my hand and led me out into the hallway.

I practically lost him in an instant, but I held onto his hand tighter than before. The hallways were filled to the brim, with people of all nationalities—I assume most are Carpathia passengers, but I don't know at this point. I heard shouts in every language under the sun, but barely any in English. Any yelling at all in English was broken, as if it was that person's second language. Harry managed to push through the crowds in the hallways, some with luggage, many without, just as he had done the night Titanic sank… when he was trying to find a lifeboat for me to get on.

"Still with me, Ann?" he asked above the noise. I nodded.

"You're out of your mind!" I shouted at him. Then again, my sanity is questionable at this point.

"I know, isn't it grand?" he asked me, smiling.

"No, it's not!" I argued, trying not to giggle. We went down another corridor to our left and then another hallway to our right before going up a flight of stairs, and then another. I've pushed past so many people, I've stopped apologizing. Everyone's on their own. Harry let me go through the door that led to the deck and I kept my eyes on him, my back to the water. We both turned at the same time when the door behind us shut and I had to stop myself.

Well, Harry had been right, first off. The Carpathia seemed to be in the harbor. I can see buildings as tall as the Heavens lit up. It was merely sprinkling above us now, and it was completely dark. Except for these continuous flashes, it was dark. I think the bursts of light are from photographers, using their cameras below us. The flashes are lighting up the entire Carpathia and the deck! Incredible, but how could it be possible? Are there really that many photographers in New York Harbor?

"I think we're here," I told him as people passed us on the deck. He pulled me towards the railing of the Carpathia, which was crowded enough, and we squeezed in between complete strangers. I leaned over the rail, gasping at what I saw. Thousands and thousands of people, some photographers, mostly people who looked as panicked as we had, the first time we boarded the Carpathia, were standing on the harbor, watching almost in awe at us and the gangway that was being attached to the ship from the pier.

"Look at that," he whistled to me, squeezing my hand, refusing to let go.

"That can't be people's family," I hissed at him. "No one has twenty-seven aunts!"

"It has to be press," Harry said aloud.

"…This is going to be Hell," I breathed. I stood up straight again, looking down to my left and right, down the deck. Where did all of the lifeboats go? They were crowding the deck beyond belief and now they're gone, as if they disappeared, into thin air. "Hey." I tugged on Harry's arm. "The lifeboats are gone."

"Oh, they've been gone for a while, Miss!" a man explained, a stranger who had been standing beside me when I was leaning over the rail to get my view of the crowd.

"How?" Harry asked him.

"She pulled into White Star Line's port, dropped them off, and here we are!" He hit his hand on the railing for effect.

"Well, what the Hell time is it?" I asked Harry. Do I even dare to ask?

"About nine-thirty." And all it did was rain…all day. The day's already over.

"Are they going to let us off or what?" I asked him.

"Let's go find out." I held onto his arm as we made his way towards the gangway entrance. Directing other officers were Carpathia's officers and of course, Charles Lightoller—we all remember him. "Charles!" He turned to face us as Harry gestured to the leading towards freedom. "When are they going to let us off?"

"In a minute or so," Lightoller replied. "We have to make sure the gangway is safe for the passengers."

"How long have we been here?" Harry pestered on. How many questions could he possibly ask in a matter of seconds?

"Maybe twenty, half-an-hour!" he shouted, above the noise to Harry. He looked down at me, shaking his head.

"How could we not have heard this?" he asked.

"You heard it," I corrected, as an officer brushed past me, yelling to someone on the pier before proceeding to walk half-way down. What's he going to do, _jump_ up and down to make sure it's safe? "Who are they letting off first?" I asked Lightoller.

"Probably first-class Titanic passengers," he said aloud, shrugging. "I don't really know, you've got to ask someone from this liner! I'll let you know when it's safe to go!" Harry nodded, pulling me away from the entrance to the gangway, merely a few feet away, but away just the same. I'm not going to fall into the water.

We sort of watched, in silence, the camera flashes, the people shouting to others on the ship, and amongst all of the commotion, we just stood there, our fingers intertwined with each other's. I checked my pocket with my free hand to make sure my father's notebook was still there and thankfully, it was. If it had been gone, I would've fetched it before getting off the Carpathia. I would've had it before I left, that's for sure. Harry can only drag me so far, I wasn't going to leave without one object my father held dear. Minutes seemed to pass, but it all felt like seconds, because before I knew it, Harry was behind me, urging me to get in line behind other first-class passengers, who were beginning to make their way down the gangway, onto the pier. I stood in line, squeezing Harry's hand every now and then, to make sure he hadn't disappeared amongst all of the confusion.

"First-class Titanic passengers, first!" shouted a Carpathia officer.

"Harry…" My voice trailed off as a woman two people in front of me began down the gangway, looking as scared as a ghost, even with an officer helping her along. "Stay right behind me, okay?"

"I will, Love," he promised as the woman in front of me began her way down. I glanced over to my right at Lightoller, who was watching carefully as people made their way down to the pier. I nodded at him, a sort of good-bye nod. "I'll see you, Charles," Harry promised as I took my first step onto the gangway. Oh, this is really high! Higher than I expected. I froze. "Ann, don't look down! Just keep going…" Harry urged, pushing me along.

Well, it's not thunder, that's for sure, we're just extremely high up. I slowly, but surely continued my way down and with each step, I could hear the sounds of shouting newspaper men getting closer and closer to me. Maybe I should've stayed on the Carpathia…No, no, I couldn't deal with Harry being so anxious for another hour, let alone another day. But, I bet staying on the ship until tomorrow morning wouldn't have been that big of a deal—and I doubt there would be as many people as there are now. I kept looking over my shoulder, to see Harry, urging me along, with a smile—I just want to make sure he's still here and he is. I took my final step, from the gangway to the pier as an officer from the Carpathia helped me down. It was a big step, let me tell you!

"There you are, Miss," he said, as sweetly as he could. I nodded at him, and Harry jumped onto the pier behind me, and I took a firm hold of his arm seconds later. We're safe. We're on solid ground. Thank you, God.

"What happened?" asked one voice as we began to make our way through the crowd. I have no idea where we're going, but Harry sure has an idea. He's obviously leading. Shouts from reporters filled my ears.

"What happened?" shouted another.

"Did Titanic actually sink!?"

"Were you witness to it?" Yes and yes.

"What about Captain Smith? The officers!" I didn't say a word and neither did Harry as we continued through the crowd. Flashbulbs seemed to go off in my face, but I pretended not to notice. But, how could I _not_ notice? People were pushing, shoving, trying to get towards the gangway with their bulky cameras, while others were praying that whoever they knew was okay. It's a madhouse.

"Someone, give us an account!" Not on your life, buddy. Not on your life. One photographer, I now realize, is following us. I thought maybe he was just trying to get forward shots of people getting off of the Carpathia, but with every zigzag we took, he followed. He looks as if he just wants to get a picture. Of what, I don't know. I held onto Harry's arm tighter than before.

"Miss Andrews, a statement?" the stalker asked me. Great, he knows who I am! I thought I was somewhat unknown in America. I acted as if I had no idea who he was talking about, not opening my mouth as his camera flashed in the direction of Harry and I. "Nothing to say at all?" he asked skeptically, writing everything down in a notebook as he let the camera hang from its' strap around his neck. I could feel Harry tense up. "And who is this, Miss Andrews?" he pestered on, gesturing to Harry. "What about your father? What happened to Titanic? What sunk her?" A flash of his camera.

"I'll tell you what sunk her!" Harry suddenly yelled angrily, taking the camera from the photographer and smashing it to the ground. He ripped out the film and snapped it in half, and then into even smaller pieces! Oh, dear God. I must be dreaming. I covered my face in my hands, watching the spectacle between my fingers.

"Harry, stop it!" I shouted at him. He, inevitably, ignored me.

"And that is what sunk Titanic, my good man!" he told the photographer, pointing to the mess as we quickened our pace through the crowd. The photographer looked as though he was ready to cry, but wasn't easily going to give up. He's still following us! Can't he take a hint? He must be related to Ismay, that's the only logical explanation for it.

"You'll have to pay for that, Officer! Both the camera and the film!" he yelled at Harry, as we continued to try to get away. We're not having any luck with this, we need a new plan. "That's property of the New York Ti—"

"I don't give a damn whose property it is! Charge it to the White Star Line for all I care!" Harry called back, not looking at the startled photographer.

"I'll get my lawyer and see you in court, I swear to you—" Harry suddenly swung around and the crowd practically jumped back, away from the three of us. And this pier is completely packed, let me tell you. I can barely see the ground with all of the feet here.

"I don't care who the Hell you are," he told the stalker between clenched teeth, "Don't you dare question and then proceed to photograph traumatized survivors of Titanic! You are a disgrace to newspaper men everywhere!"

"Why, I just wanted a statement from Miss Andrews—"

"Does it look like she wants to talk to you!?" he yelled angrily. The photographer actually scowled at that. I love Harry. Have I ever told him that? I need to tell him again. As long as he doesn't actually _kill_ this man, I love him. Even though he somewhat deserves it. What am I even saying?

"Harry, stop…" I begged him softly. "Let's not cause a scene!" I hissed.

"Oh, we're way past that, Miss Andrews!" the photographer practically laughed, gesturing around us. Everyone is either staring at us or at the Carpathia—but more than not, they're staring at us. Harry grabbed him by the collar and it looks as if he's ready to kill him.

"I will sink _you_ if I ever see you near me or Miss Andrews again, is that clear?" Harry said, with no emotion in his voice.

"Can I quote you?" the photographer asked simply.

"Sure! Why the Hell not? My name's Harold Lowe, Fifth Officer Harold Lowe of Titanic!" He took my hand, taking in a deep breath. "Come along, Antoinette," he told me, rather calmly, and we continued through the crowd, me trailing behind him, leaving a started news reporter to wallow in his own misery. As the people population lessened with each passing step, I kept glancing back, expecting to see that photographer/news reporter following us. We kept on walking, until I finally tugged on Harry's arm to get him to stop. We're safe.

"Are you out of your mind?" I exclaimed, gesturing to the crowd.

"He had no right to shove a camera in your face," he said nonchalantly.

"I thought you were going to break his neck!"

"All threats, Ann, all threats."

"And you broke his camera," I pointed out. "Harry, you didn't have to get violent—" He nodded, making me stop.

"I know I didn't. I lost my head. I apologize. But…" His voice trailed off, rubbing his forehead as he held onto my hand tighter than before. "Is it wrong to say I wanted to take that film and choke him with it?" I'm about to nod, that_ is _wrong—until I thought back and remembered what a jerk that reporter actually was.

"No." He burst into a smile at me.

"I only threatened to sink him," he promised. Sure, he did.

"I didn't realize how fragile those cameras are," I noted aloud.

"It just…" He stopped.

"Smashed into a million pieces?" I suggested sweetly, finishing his sentence. We both whistled, in awe before bursting out with laughter. Okay, it was insane and maybe even dangerous, but it was fun! "You are going to get quoted in whatever newspaper he works for," I decided, with a nod.

"And maybe I'll end up on the front page!" he said, with almost a dreamy sigh. "Can you imagine? What will the other officials at the White Star Line think of that?"

"I think Bruce Ismay would be extremely jealous!" We kept on laughing, myself having a giggling fit for a few seconds until, the rain, which had been cooperating with us, began to hate us, falling harder on each of us with each passing second. "What are we going to do now?" I managed to yell as the rain became more violent and all sound around me became practically inaudible. And not to mention, thunder could be coming any moment.

"Well, we've got to find a hotel!" I think that's what he said. I think.

"They're probably all full by now!" I shouted back.

"I doubt it!" Thunder echoed across the harbor, lightening lit up the sky and I screamed, but Harry pulled me in closer to him as he took off his overcoat. "You're alright, Love, I'm right here," he reassured me, covering my head and his own with the coat. "Everything's fine." I got as close to him as I could, holding onto his officer's uniform as tightly as I could. I wish we had an umbrella, or better yet, I wish we were somewhere…anywhere, just away from this damn thunder! No, Antoinette, just a little bit longer and we'll be inside. No need to panic. Harry's right here. I know he won't let anything happen. I need to conquer this phobia, sooner or later, because right now, it is controlling me and I can't do anything to stop it! "We're going to have to make a run for it!" he decided.

"Wait a second, how are we supposed to get a hotel room?" I asked, panic-stricken from the thunder and now the thought of being out here all night. "We're broke!"

"You may be," he laughed, "But, I'm not."


	40. Chapter Thirty Nine

"All settled in?" Harry asked me, knocking on the open door taking a step through it, into my room. I'm as settled in as I could be. Granted, I have barely left Harry's side since we came into the Plaza Hotel, out of fear that the thunder would start again. I suppose he had been right: he hadn't been broke. He had enough money in his pockets alone to get a room—but he didn't get just one, he got two rooms. One for each of us. He must think I'm sick of him already. How could I be?

"Oh, Harry, this is absolutely fantastic!" I laughed. And it really _is_ fantastic. I am not in the least bit exaggerating. The carpets—yes, there are carpets, are plush and actually make my feet sink into them when I stand too long in one spot. The bed is enormous, with soft sheets and too many pillow to count. The bathing area is made of marble, and crystal white. I'm going to make the whole room, or may I even call it a _suite_, look horrible once I leave. But, if I leave, where am I to go? I really have _nowhere_ to go and going home seems so frivolous—what would I do if Harry stayed behind? No, I'm not going to think about that now. I turned to face him, wrapping my arms around his neck. "This is wonderful."

"I'm so happy you like it," he said, sighing a breath of relief. "Only so many hotels in New York, you know." I smiled. It's practically the hotel capital of the world, New York. But…this is still bothering me. I bit down on my lower lip. I feel like I'm using him. He shouldn't be paying for this, it's too much! I have money, my mother has money, I certainly can afford a hotel room for myself.

"You know," I began, "you didn't have to pay for me. I could've wired for money and—"

"Ann, Ann, really," he laughed, "don't worry about it. You keep telling me the same thing. Can't I treat you to something? I want to give you something luxurious." I sighed. I don't want luxury; I just want him.

"Harry, it's not that! I don't want you to—"

"I'm not doing anything I don't want to."

"I feel like I'm using you," I admitted.

"Antoinette." He touched his nose to mine. "You are _not_ using me. Can't I do something for you without repercussions from it? I'm not dirt-poor, you know." He smiled.

"I didn't say that! I can certainly afford a hotel—"

"Unless it was all a ploy so I could get you to stay around longer than you would've," he joked. Is he kidding? He sounds pretty serious to me. "…Guilt-trip you about bringing me to the bank because you had to have such a fancy residence, for such a short period of time, so then you'd have to stay, out of pure guilt…" His voice trailed off as he smiled, wider than before.

"I would've slept in the street," I argued.

"Not with the thunder." Okay, that's true.

"Touché, touché." I bit my lower lip again, in thought. "I'll pay you back," I promised suddenly.

"Ann, don't!" he said, with a laugh. "Please, don't!"

"But—" He put a finger to my lips, shaking his head at me.

"No buts. I'm going to pay for this little adventure and that's that." I sighed. It's no use.

"I'm not going to win this, am I?"

"No," he smiled, "you're not." He kissed me on the cheek, before dropping his hands from my waist and we parted. "Now, room service, my Love!" He scooped up a menu on one of the two bedside tables, beside the telephone. "Starving?" he asked. "I am." He sat down on the bed, staring at the menu. He has a look of confusion on his face.

"What?" I asked, trying to read the menu backwards with no success.

"This is all in French!"

"You're kidding." He handed me the menu and sure enough, all of it is in French. "Are we or aren't we in the United States?" I asked him, giving him back the menu.

"Can you read French?" he asked me hopefully. I shook my head.

"I can speak it alright, but reading is a whole another story. Let's not go down that road."

"I'll just request everything on the menu, then," Harry said nonchalantly, picking up the telephone. I ripped the phone out of his hand, hanging it back up on the receiver.

"Are you crazy?"

"Well—" He smiled as I shook my head at him.

"Do you know how expensive the food is in a hotel, especially a hotel like the Plaza? It's all extravagant!"

"You only have on life to live, Antoinette." As if that explains everything! It doesn't. I sighed, putting my hands on my hips. Yet another argument I'm not going to win. I might as well just let him do what he wants. He's going to, anyway—no matter what I say. He took up the phone and dialed a few numbers, copying them from the menu. I didn't listen as he spoke into the phone, I went for the window and leaned against it. Looking down, the world hasn't stopped. Cars are going about, there's screeching, beeping of car horns and I hear other people cursing the living daylights out of each other—all under New York City's lights. What a lively city.

I've only been here one other time, but I was only a child. I was so excited to go into a toy store with my father—and he sort of went overboard on the toys. He bought me so many things that day, one being this enormous teddy bear. I named him Snuggles and if I remember correctly, he's up in my attic at home, collecting dust. I want him. I glanced over my shoulder to see my father's coat laid out on the front of the bed, behind Harry—who still seems to be talking away. I put a hand on my stomach, trying to take in a deep breath. I'm so tired. I don't know why. I feel like all I did was sleep when I was on the Carpathia—but I know I didn't sleep soundly. I was so freaked out by the thunder and even though now the rain has dissipated, it's hard to tell what tomorrow's weather will bring. I hope it's sunny. I could use a sunny day.

"Well, they said it could take a little while," Harry said, hanging up the phone. I turned to face him, leaning against the wall beside the window, "But I was able to get the manager or whoever's in charge to tell me what was on the menu in English. They haven't made English menus yet."

"Go figure," I said, with a shrug, taking a step towards him as he stood up, trying to straighten his officer's uniform. "Oh, you're hopeless!" I laughed, fixing a crooked button on his jacket. "I think this is ruined, maybe beyond fixable."

"I hope it's fixable! The White Star Line makes you pay if you need a new uniform." He sighed at that.

"Bruce Ismay," I muttered, fixing his collar to the best of my ability. "This _is_ trashed," I decided, with a nod, gesturing to the uniform.

"I'll let him know you thought so," he joked. "Your opinion is very important to him."

"Well, I'm sure it is—Until or unless he finds out about the china incident."

"Do you still think he's going to harp about it, Love?" Harry asked me skeptically, trying to fix his cuff links.

"This is Bruce Ismay we're talking about. He doesn't forget anything."

"I wonder if he even got off the Carpathia." I stared at him, shocked that he even said that. Of course he got off!

"I would bet any amount of money that he was one of the first to get off."

"Or one of the last." He shrugged. "The press can be brutal, you know." I smiled.

"Oh, we both know that firsthand," I laughed, taking off his hat.

"Hey!" he laughed, trying to take it back. I smiled, wrapping my arms around his neck, throwing the hat onto the bed.

"You don't need it," I said, with a shrug. "I like you without the hat, anyway."

"I like my hat. It keeps my ears warm." I laughed.

"It's as warm as summer in here and you and I both know that. There." I put my arms to my sides, looking him over. "I think that's as good as it's going to get." He shrugged.

"That's alright. I suppose I can always get a new one in England, if this one isn't acceptable to the company."

"_England_?" He wants to go back already? We just got here!

"They make them in a factory somewhere near the White Star Line office, I think." He shrugged. "Really, I have no idea. All I know is that I'm going to have to pay for it." And then we were quiet—until the door was knocked on. The food. Already? It doesn't seem like it's been that long, but it has to have been. I was really struggling to fix that uniform.

I backed away from Harry as he went for the door. The food came rolling in on multiple carts and he sat me down at one of the many tables in the suite, this one in the middle of the room—as even more trays of food were brought in. He really _did_ buy everything on the menu! I can't even believe it!

I'm not sure how long we talked for, but Harry and I just talked, ate, talked some more, laughed—there was a lot of laughing until the food disappeared. It was nice to have a hot meal. Sitting now at the table with him, our plates scraped from both the meal, well, multiple meals and the desserts, I leaned back into my chair. I'm trying not to fall asleep! I'm exhausted, but the last thing I want to do is sleep. I just woke up.

"What are you going to do?" Harry's voice pulled me out of my state of semi-consciousness and I sat up straighter in my chair. He had acted all night as if something had been bothering him, something straining his mind, but I never asked what seemed to be the trouble. I was too busy, inevitably stuffing my face.

"What?" I asked, confused. What does he even mean? He smiled.

"What are you going to do, now that you're in New York?" I shrugged. I have no idea. I placed my napkin onto my plate slowly, from my lap, folding it, not looking him in the eye.

"There was a plan," I explained slowly. "I was to go back to England with my father after this voyage, on Titanic—and reunite with my mother." I looked up at him. "I suppose that's not going to happen now."

"What? You going back to England on Titanic or you going back to England at all?"

"I don't know. I don't think I could get on another ship again."

"I don't blame you there," he agreed.

"You're a seaman, getting on a ship is part of your job description!" I joked. He smiled, before shaking his head.

"You really have nothing holding you here," he sighed. "I know I don't. I suppose I'll be staying here for a little while, anyway."

"Until something better comes along," I concluded. Where to go, though—that's the big question of the night. "My mother would want me back for the funeral," I managed to choke out, trying not to allow my tears to form. Oh, my father. "I don't even want to go. Is that wrong?" He shook his head. "I just…" I sighed, shaking my head. "I don't know." It's not a question of love on my part. I loved, love my father. "I do love him, Harry, I just don't know if I can handle my mother." I forced a chuckle. "She's a handful."

"She sounds it." There was silence as I took a sip of my water.

"What about you?" I asked him suddenly. "What are you going to do?"

"Stay with you for as long as humanly possible." He said it so seriously and I didn't know what to make of it, until he burst into a smile. "I don't know!" he exclaimed. "I don't even know what I'm doing tomorrow!"

"See, neither do I, yet you ask me—expecting this wonderful answer!" I laughed, clearing my throat. "Oh, I'm going to be painting my version of the Eiffel Tower tomorrow at noon, and then I'm going to Rome…" Harry began to laugh.

"And why are you going to Rome, my dear?" he asked sarcastically.

"None of your business!" I said in this elegant, pompous voice.

"But—" I gasped, in shock.

"How dare a ship officer question someone like me! How dare you!" I laughed, rolling my eyes. "And that is my mother, in a nutshell."

"She sounds _wonderful_."

"Oh, she is," I replied sarcastically. "I'm sure you'd love her."

"I don't think she'd like me," he said, with a laugh.

"Well…" This is _my_ mother I'm talking about. He's right, she wouldn't like him. But, not for the reasons others may think. He's not society, he's not a gentleman, he's everything that she _wouldn't_ want for me. Plus, he's a seaman—my mother assumes every man who works on the water is scum to the Earth. But, not Harold Lowe, not him. He breaks the stereotype, he's not scum. Titanic's officers broke that stereotype, which I knew never existed in the first place. Men who have money and are in society can be more vicious than any of those officers combined. Look at Bruce Ismay, he's a prime example. I looked up from my plate to Harry, who was just sitting there, waiting for me to finish what I had started. "You're right!" I said, with a nod.

"See?" he asked, with a smirk, "She sounds like the nicest woman to ever be put on this Earth—"

"I don't know how either of us ever put up with her," I admitted.

"_Us_?" he asked, confused.

"My father and I." I forced a laugh. "I'm not sure how we did it, because my mother is foreign." I smiled, even though Harry has such a skeptical look on his face. "She is!"

"Oh, you don't have to tell me. I believe you. I really do." His smile didn't fade as he sighed dreamily. I sighed myself as I leaned back into my chair, resting my head in my palm, fighting to keep my eyes from closing. When there's no talking, the silence lulls me into this false sense of security. "…Tired, there, Love?" Harry's voice sounded as if he was so far away, but he's just right across from me. I know it. I was just in that realm between sleep and being awake, where every sound seems to echo in your ears and you seem to be in a parallel universe. I looked up at him.

"Not really," I lied.

"Even sleepy, you lie." He stood up before making his way towards me. "Come on," he laughed, "let's move you before you fall asleep in the chair."

"I'm enjoying myself," I argued as he took my hand, forcing me to stand up.

"Well, I'm enjoying myself, too. But…it's past your bedtime," he joked.

"Bedtimes have been out of the picture since I was nine," I said, pushing the chair in.

"Now, you see that bed right there?" he asked, pointing to the bed merely feet away. I nodded. "Doesn't it look comfortable?" I sighed, nodding.

"Really, it does." I'm not going to argue.

"All of those fluffy pillows and soft bed sheets…"

"Oh, Harry, stop it!" He smiled, realizing he annoyed me.

"Come, then." He led me towards the bed, turning the blankets over before taking my hand again. "There." He sat me down by my shoulders. "Just lay down," he instructed. I did as I was told, too tired to even think of anything else. He covered me up just as my head fell onto the soft pillows. "How's that?" he asked softly.

"Nice," I yawned.

"Just to let you know, I'm saving that chocolate cake for tomorrow." The chocolate cake neither of us had touched tonight. That cake.

"Good to know."

"Why don't you just sleep and I'll see you in the morning."

"Wait." I took his hand. "Where are you going to sleep?"

"In my room—Where I belong." He smiled, kneeling down to face me. "I'll come by in the morning. We'll go out, how's that?"

"What can we do?"

"I'll think of something," he promised, kissing my hand before kissing me.

"Can't you stay here?" I suddenly asked him.

"You need to sleep. Me being here will keep you awake." Not at this rate. "Besides, you need a break from me."

"Oh, do I?" I weakly laughed.

"You _do_. Even though you're just so beautiful, I can barely stay away—" He smiled. "…And maybe we both can get some sleep. That way, we can enjoy each other's company even more tomorrow. How's that?" He kissed my hand again. "I love you, Antoinette. Very much." Even though I may have heard it so many times from him before, I still don't get sick of Harry telling me how much he loves me.

"I love you, too, Harry."

"I'll see you in the morning," he promised. With that, he let go of my hand and left me, shutting the door behind him. I turned onto my side, bringing the blankets closer to me. Tomorrow will be my first day in New York, but it won't be the first day without my father.


	41. Chapter Forty

"Darling." The voice filled my ears, but I merely curled up into the bed more so than before, realizing whoever that was, definitely Harry, I know—was sitting beside me, on the edge of the bed. He stroked my hair and…wait a second, that doesn't feel like Harry. What…? "Darling?" That voice—It sounds so familiar. But, can I place the voice? No, of course not. I tried to open my eyes, but I can't. "Antoinette." A kiss on the cheek. "I love you." There was a pause, before, "Don't feel guilty about going back to England. I know you care, you don't have to prove it by going to the funeral." _Funeral_? What? I felt a hand touch my cheek, before hair was tucked behind my ear. "You've got much better things to worry about than going to a funeral. Your life is going to be fantastic, just you wait and see. Besides." A pause. "I'm here. I'm always going to be here. I love you, Baby." I sat up at that point. Looking around, nobody's here. Oh, another dream! I rolled my eyes. I should've known.

How am I supposed to sleep with these strange dreams invading my mind? I rubbed my eyes, hiding my face in my hands before glancing around the room once again. "Harry?" I called out. No response. Maybe he had come early and I had been asleep, and he just left—and now, I'm awake. Maybe…? I went to tuck my hair behind my ear, but it was already tucked. I touched my ear. That happened in the dream. Maybe I did that to myself. Maybe. Huh.

I leaned against the bed's headboard, biting my lip in thought. The voice, the voice. Darling. In the dream, they called me darling. Wait a minute, Harry never calls me darling! He calls me either by my name or that Love pet name, never darling or Baby. The only one that used to call me darling was…_my father_. And even, sometimes, in a extreme case, he would call me Baby. But, he's not alive, he couldn't have been here. Or could he have? No, no, I'm losing my mind, he was not here. He's gone, he's not here. But, it _was_ him, he knew about me not wanting to go back to Europe for the funeral, _his_ funeral. Besides Harry, no one else would've known that. That is, unless someone snuck in here. No. My father, he's the only one that ever called me darling, and he's the only one who used to touch my hair like that. It felt so real, but I know it couldn't have been. I sighed. It makes no sense. And what about me waiting to see something fantastic happen? This all has to be because I went to bed on a full stomach. That has to be it. I looked to my left, where there would've been a place to sit, had this whole dream actually occurred. I can't tell if anyone's been here. Maybe I hallucinated. I pushed the blankets off of me and stood up. No, I don't think I hallucinated. Oh, who knows at this point.

"Harry, you here?" I called, walking into the little kitchen every suite seems to have. I don't think he would've come in without letting me know. Would he have? No. The kitchen's empty. Alright, so maybe this whole thing did happen. Let me play with that idea for the time being. Either my father's coming to me in my dreams or he's really still here, like he said he would be. I think I'm losing my mind now. Great, just—Ow!

Being in my half-conscious state, I tripped over the area rug in the sitting room and here I lay, on the floor like an absolute imbecile. Fantastic, swell—this is…I sighed, sitting up. Once you fall, you must get back up. Well, nothing seems to hurt as I reached for the table nearby to stand up. I'm so clumsy. When I went to put my right foot down onto the floor, it seemed to buckle underneath me and I practically fell to the floor again. Thankfully, the table stopped me. Alright, my right ankle doesn't want to cooperate with me and now, it's throbbing. Great, Antoinette, great. Well, I can't stand here all day, leaning on this table—It could collapse. I looked about the room and spotted a chair in the corner, with an ottoman in front of it—an ottoman I could put my foot up on. Okay, that's about as perfect as it could get.

I jumped, with my working left leg towards the chair and threw myself into it, placing my right leg up on the ottoman. I pulled up my dress to get a good look at the problem and I put my hands around my ankle, feeling it. I'm no doctor, but it feels fine. It doesn't even seem swollen and nothing feels out of place. I yawned. I'm still tired and now, my ankle's going to keep me awake. It's only…I glanced at the clock on that table that had assisted me in getting up. It's only nine and I doubt Harry's even awake yet. I'm not going to call to him through a closed door, even if he is across the hall. Am I that desperate? Yes, but…I leaned back into the chair. He'll come, I'll just have to wait. I'll sleep while I wait, yes, that's a fine idea—I yawned. Yes, I'll sleep and he can figure it out later…

"Love?" Harry's voice woke me and I opened my eyes to see him come bursting through the door, a newspaper in his hand. "There you are!" he laughed, holding up the front page of The New York Times with a large smile. It read in bold black print: TITANIC SINKS, 1500 DIE. I quickly scanned the page and on the cover was the Carpathia docking in New York and Captain Smith, Titanic's Captain. I tried not to let that affect me, but let's just say I won't be reading the paper today. Or any other day, until next year, for that matter, until they stop writing about that God damn ship. "I didn't make the first page," he joked as I stood, holding onto the chair for support. "But…" He began to rummage through the pages, "I made it onto the society page! I look dashing, let me tell you—" I went to take a step towards him, but my ankle gave way and he managed to catch me before I fell to the floor, for the second time in one day. Oh, my ankle! Stupid sleep, I always forget what happened _before_ I fall asleep and with my horrible luck, I just caused more damage to my already-damaged ankle. "Are you alright, Antoinette?" he asked, still holding onto me for dear life.

"My ankle…" He sat me back down in the chair, himself sitting down on the ottoman, throwing the paper to the floor.

"Your ankle?" he asked, concerned. "Which one? Let me see—"

"Harry, it's no big deal—"

"You can't walk, I think that's a big deal. Let me see." I hesitantly held up my right leg and placed it down on the ottoman, on his lap. He felt my ankle. "Well, I'm no doctor…" He touched it gently. "Does that hurt?" I shook my head.

"No." He moved his hands and touched my ankle again. I nearly jumped a mile. "Okay, that hurt!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he apologized, "It looks really swollen, Ann. What did you do to it?"

"I tripped over my feet on the area rug in here."

"When was that?"

"About nine."

"Why didn't you call for me?"

"Harry, I was half-asleep myself, I fell asleep in the chair and—" I gestured to my ankle. "Either way, it happened." He managed a nod.

"Well," he cleared his throat, "How about we get some ice for this ankle of yours and then we can call for a doctor."

"Harry, please, no doctor. It's not that bad!"

"Antoinette, it's almost purple, it's so swollen." It was fine when I looked.

"It's not that bad." He gave me this skeptical look, so I am now opting not to argue with him.

"We'll get the swelling down first and then we'll see, okay?" I managed a nod as he placed my ankle down on the ottoman before standing up. He handed me the open newspaper. "I'm on page five," he smiled, before disappearing into the kitchen. I folded the paper, already on page five, to get a good look at the picture of him. Of course, you can see me slightly—I'm standing behind him, but he's right. He looks great, especially since you can see the camera at his feet all smashed and broken.

"Great picture of you!" I called.

"Don't you think?" he yelled back. He sounds like he's smiling.

"Oh, it's fantastic! You've got a great profile!" I quickly read the title above the picture. TITANIC OFFICER THREATENS TO SINK REPORTER.

"I know I do, don't I?" he laughed, coming back into the room now with a bucket of ice and a white cloth all folded up. Ice already looks to be hidden in it.

"Don't tell me that's a dishcloth," I laughed as he sat back down on the ottoman, my ankle on his lap.

"It's a _clean_ dishcloth," he promised, before gesturing to the newspaper. "So, what do you think? I'm in the New York Times!" He smiled, proud of himself.

"I love the heading," I decided.

"I do, too. Now." He placed the cloth gently on my ankle and it is absolutely freezing. "How's that? Not too cold?" He sounds so nervous, like he's going to break me or something.

"Harry, it's ice—Of course it's cold." I could almost see red blushing out from under his collar, but decided not to bring it up.

"I just want to make sure it's okay," he said, with a slight chuckle.

"It's fine. It just…_hurts_."

"You either broke it or sprained it." I glanced up from the paper to him.

"Which is worse?"

"It's not good, either way." I laughed at that.

"Oh, that's comforting!" I said, slapping him on the arm, before folding the newspaper and tossing it back onto the floor.

"Well, I'm not going to lie to you!" He moved the ice around from the top of my ankle to the side and I felt a sharp piece of ice begin to dig into me. Well, it doesn't hurt _that_ much—It's nothing to worry about. "I thought maybe we could do something today. Go for a walk in Central Park, something—" He brought the ice closer to my skin, and the sharp dagger known as frozen water dug into my already hurting ankle even more so than before. "But, then again, I suppose walking is out of the question for the time being."

"Why do we even have to go anywhere?" I questioned.

"Ann, look outside! It's beautiful out there. Sunny, not too hot, not too cold, just a big windy, but other than that, it's gorgeous." He brought the ice even closer to my ankle, which I didn't think was possible. Turns out, it _is_ possible. "Either way, it's nice out…And besides, the shopping in New York is incredible."

"Oh, really?" I asked, with a smirk. He looked up from my ankle to me, smiling.

"Or so I've heard."

"Sure, sure," I said skeptically, "or so you've heard."

"I wanted to get you a new dress."

"A new dress?" I glanced down at my tattered outfit I have on now. I wonder why. He smiled.

"Pick out anything you want. On me."

"Harry, you're already paying for the room here, I'm not going to—"

"No, no, no. You can't expect to wear that…" He gestured to my dress, "forever. You need new clothes." I love this dress, though. I really do. I suppose it can be fixed. Even if it's beyond fixable, I may just hold onto it.

"I have clothes," I argued.

"An ocean away," he pointed out. True, they _are_ an ocean away… "All of the nice new clothes are in from Europe and…"

"Okay, stop it!" I laughed. "You're enticing me and it's not fair." He smiled.

"I know I am." He sighed, shaking his head. "Either way, I guess we can go anywhere later, it just matters how your ankle is."

"I'm so clumsy," I said, shaking my head.

"It was just an accident, but you caused some damage. As it is, your ankle might need to be bandaged up."

"Great," I muttered, "great."

"And then maybe you'll be forced to stay in bed." He brought the ice even closer to my ankle. Oh! Now, that piece of ice is cutting off the circulation to my foot. "Of course, we don't know anything yet, we'll have to see—"

"Harry."

"The doctor will know what to do. I would bet any amount of money that there's a doctor around here somewhere, this is New York, after all…" Okay, ice. Hurting. Me.

"Harry, what did you put in that cloth?" I asked. He raised an eyebrow at me.

"Just ice, Love."

"Let me see."

"It really should stay on your ankle—" I didn't listen. I took the cloth from his hand and off of my ankle, placing it onto my lap. "…Or, or not." He cleared his throat as I opened up the dishcloth, searching for the one piece of ice that doesn't want to cooperate. "Whatever it is, Ann…"

"Whatever it is, it's going into the garbage." I searched through the frozen pieces of water with no luck. Although the cloth is solid white, I see something gold in the middle of the bundle. I blinked twice, thinking I must be hallucinating. I'm not. Huh. I moved a few cubes out of the way and sitting there, with the white cloth as its' background, sparkling from the sunshine coming through the window—was a diamond ring. A gold-banded diamond ring. It's so beautiful. It's one solid diamond, with at least six smaller diamonds around it. It must've cost a fortune! I pulled it out of the ice and inspected it, the sun's rays reflecting off of it, practically blinding me. I held onto the ring but managed to focus my gaze off of it to look at Harry. What is this for? Did some other woman leave the ring in the kitchen and he thought he'd hide it before giving it to me?

"I suppose you don't want to put that in the garbage," he said, almost timid.

"Harry, what is this—"

"I went down to the White Star Line this morning," he began as I handed him the ring, afraid to break it, "…to see if I could get a paycheck. I didn't care Titanic sank, I told them. They didn't want to give me my paycheck until everything involving the ship had been filed and finished. They argued with me for a good hour, until I finally told them why I wanted…No, needed, I told them why I _needed_ the money so badly." I stared at him, completely confused.

"Why did you?" I questioned. He smiled brightly at me, the diamond ring now facing me.

"I told them I needed the money so I could get my wife to marry me." What!? He took my hands, making me practically drop the bundle in my lap. "I did sort of have it planned out," he admitted, "but you can't walk, so that plan went down the toilet." He cleared his throat. Is he going to do what I think he's going to do? He took my hands. "Antoinette Andrews, would you…please do me the honor of becoming Mrs. Harold Lowe?" My eyes welled up with tears, for some strange reason—except for the fact that I'm a nutcase. I never expected this! How could I not have known? That's what my father must've been talking about…had it been my father…

"Harry, I, I…" Just spit it out, Antoinette! Dear God!

"I know we practically just met," he began to babble, "but I've been in love with you since the first day I saw you. Life's too short to go about and date someone you really, _truly_ want to spend the rest of your life with." I smiled, holding back my tears all the way. "Life is too damn short, Antoinette! I think we both know that." Titanic. I managed a nod. "Either way, I love you and I want to marry _you_. Just you, only you." I realize he's practically shaking now, his hands still in mine. He seems to be sweating buckets. "Will you marry me?"

"You know," I said softly, leaning closer to him, "you're being _awfully_ direct." How could I forget what he said when he first told me he loved me? He smiled. I suppose he remembers, too.

"I _am_ being direct, aren't I?" I nodded, kissing him.

"Yes." One word. Yes, I could marry him. Yes, I _want_ to marry him! I couldn't imagine marrying anyone else, but Harold Lowe. He raised an eyebrow of confusion at me.

"Yes, I'm being direct or yes, you want to marry me?"

"How about yes to both?" His eyes lit up as he wrapped his arms around me into a hug.

"I love you," he said softly.

"I love you, too," I whispered into his ear. He squeezed me and things are beginning to get fuzzy around me. Now, he's cutting off my air supply. We won't make it to the wedding at this point. "Harry. You. Choking. Me." He laughed nervously before kissing me, then breaking the hug. He sat there, I think waiting for me to drop dead, but I smiled at him and he loosened up. I'm okay now. I can breathe now.

"Now." He took my left hand. "Now, this may not fit you quite right, I had to guess on your size, but we can go get it sized later on."

"That's okay." He slipped the ring onto my finger and surprisingly, it fit perfectly, like a glove.

"Would you look at that!" he exclaimed, almost baffled, with a smile.

"Fits like a glove," I laughed. Oh my God. I'm going to get married! Who would've thought—me? Getting married! I laughed, in spite of myself as I leaned back into the chair, Harry getting the ice back into the cloth and placing it back onto my ankle. He looks like a kid in a candy store, he seems so happy.

"Do you like it?" he asked me, gesturing to the diamond extravaganza on my finger.

"It's perfect," I told him, holding up the ring to admire it. "It's absolutely beautiful." He looked up from the ice to me, his smile growing even wider.

"Not as beautiful as you—My wonderful _fiancée_." I giggled, leaning towards him to steal a kiss. "I'll never get sick of saying that!"

"To be honest, I never thought I'd get engaged with a swollen ankle and looking as awful as I do!"

"Oh, we both don't look our best, but that's alright." He shrugged. "I did have a plan," he felt the need to remind me.

"I know." I'm sure he did.

"Trust me, it would've been much more romantic than this."

"It doesn't matter to me." I brought myself as close as I could to him, teetering on the chair. "As long as it wasn't Bruce Ismay who was proposing, I could care less where we are." He smiled.

"Well, he was there when I was begging for my paycheck. He was talking to some receptionist, saying that he wanted to get back to England as soon as possible."

"Really? Interesting." I shook my head. "No, not really interesting. But, I must know…Was he still complaining about the china?"

"No, I don't think so." My smile must've faded, because he took my left hand, kissing it before fixing the ring to make sure it was facing him. "I'm sure he won't give up on it, though!" he reassured me.

"I don't think he'll stop talking about it until someone comes forward. At least," I said, with a laugh, "there's no pipe for him to handcuff us to."

"He'll never find out, I'm sure." He then gestured to the bed over his shoulder. "You know, I never thought of this until now. Would you rather sit on the bed?"

"You sick of teetering on the edge of the ottoman?" I joked.

"No, I just think you'd be more comfortable over there. Not as confined."

"You're ready to _fall off_ of the ottoman, aren't you?" He smiled.

"Alright, alright, you caught me!"

"Sure, I'll move." He handed me the cloth filled with ice and moving my leg over, he stood up. He went towards the bed and quickly began to straighten the sheets for me.

"One second!"

"That's okay, no rush." I'm too busy admiring my beautiful ring. It really is gorgeous. I can't even believe it's mine. It's too lovely for me! Am I really worth it? It must've cost him a fortune, but glancing up from the ring to Harry, he seems to be almost in his own little world—humming to himself as he fixed the bed to the best of his ability. He's giddy and I have to admit, so am I! I'm more than giddy, I'm ecstatic! I just wish my father was here to share the happiness, because my mother…Oh, my mother…I'm not even going to think about her right—Harry scooped me up into his arms, off of the chair. I almost screamed, not realizing he was getting ready to pick me up in the first place!

"Now, hold on," he warned. I giggled.

"Just don't drop me!"

"I'm not going to drop you!" You never can be too sure. I held onto him for dear life as he walked towards the bed. "I thought this was supposed to happen _after_ the wedding."

"Carrying the bride into the threshold?" I questioned.

"Something like that," he said, with a shrug as he gently placed me down. I'm not made of porcelain, so I'm not sure why he acts that way around me. I think my ankle looking as if it's ready to explode might warn him to heed caution. "Pillows okay?" He had fixed them so I could sit up, I now realize. I nodded, leaning back into the fluffy softness.

"It's perfect," I reassured him. "Can you please stop worrying?"

"I'm not worrying, Love," he said simply, sitting down beside me as I handed him the ice cloth. "I just don't want to make it worse."

"My pillows not being perfect could cause some serious damage," I said, sarcasm in my voice. He smiled.

"Well, you never know…" I slapped him on the arm playfully.

"Oh, you're going to pay for that!" He laughed, taking me up in his arms as he pushed me back onto the bed, before beginning to tickle me.

"Oh, my God! Harry!" I giggled, trying to push him off of me. He's much too heavy to push off!

"Ticklish, now are we?" He laughed, continuing to tickle, killing me with laughter.

"Stop it!" I laughed, tickling his sides. "See?" I told him as he started to laugh, even more so than me.

"Now, you're going to get it!" He went back to tickling me and I was howling with laughter, so much so that tears were practically coming down my cheeks.

"Harry! Harry!" I wrapped my arms around his neck, trying to get him to stop. After what felt like an eternity of me just laughing, I feel my cheeks burning from all of the giggling. He stopped the tickling, suddenly and unexpectedly—and I looked up at him, my arms still around his neck. "What?" I asked, expecting more laughter to come. He smiled at me, not answering me. "What is it?" I asked again. A kiss. I should've expected it, we were so close—but I didn't. Even with my swollen and painful ankle, that doesn't seem to hurt right now, he's a fantastic kisser. I don't think either of us plan on letting go any time soon. Until a knock on the door. He broke the kiss before sighing, annoyed.

"I don't even want to answer it," he said, kissing my forehead.

"Go answer it." More knocking. "Whoever it is, they're not going to give up." He managed a nod.

"You're right." Aren't I always? He took his arms from around me away and handed me the sort of ice pack from the side of my leg to me. "Put the ice back on it, okay?" I nodded.

"Okay." He stood up and went for the door. I sat up, trying to keep my right leg as straight as possible. I watched down the hallway as Harry answered the door, before putting the ice back onto my ankle.

"Officer Harold Godfrey Lowe?" A man in a crisp suit asked.

"Yes?" His middle name's _Godfrey_? Who would've thought! Maybe I should've found out his full name before saying yes to a marriage proposal. I turned my attention back to the scene in my suite doorway. The man held out what looked to be an envelope and then a clipboard, handing Harry a pen.

"Sign here, please," he said, pointing to the page on the clipboard. Harry clicked the pen open and scribbled his signature.

"What is it?" Harry asked him. The messenger shrugged.

"I have no idea, sir. I was just told to get this to you. All I know is that this should've been given to you last night. I apologize beforehand for the delay."

"Oh, well, thank you," was all Harry could say. "Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon to you, too, sir." With that, the man disappeared down the hotel hallway and Harry shut the door. He stared at the envelope in his hand, not moving an inch, before he ripped it open and took out its' contents. It looks to be a letter and he unfolded it, his eyes moving quickly back and forth across the first page before flipping to the second page. That's when he finally began to walk towards me.

"What is it?" I asked him as he stood merely feet away from me. He didn't answer. "Harry?" He cleared his throat before looking up from the paper to me. "What is it?" He's making me nervous.

"A trial." He sat down beside me, his eyes still focused on the paper in his hand.

"A _what_?"

"A trial. They're investigating the Titanic disaster." Investigating? Who?

"Who?"

"I guess the Committee Commerce."

"But, an investigation? There was an iceberg. The end."

"I guess they're not taking her hitting the iceberg as an answer," he sighed.

"Still…what's there to _investigate_?" He shrugged.

"I don't know. But, I've been called to testify."

"You, why you?"

"I was a part of Titanic's crew, Antoinette. I was there. I suppose they must be subpoenaing everyone who survived, at least the crew." And I thought maybe I could put this behind me…I was wrong on that account.

"Wh—when?"

"Tomorrow morning." He looked up from the paper to me for the first time since he opened the letter. "You know," he said, almost cautiously, "I…I wouldn't be surprised if they called on you to testify." The last thing I want to do is relive that night.

"God, I hope not."


	42. Chapter Forty One

"You sprained it." The doctor sounded positive as he continued to examine my ankle. Doctors are completely overrated, let me tell you. Harry, I think, scared out of his wits, since my ankle swelled even more—had a doctor called in. That in itself took hours. You'd think there would be more doctors in such a big city, but I suppose not. All the while he was on the telephone, getting ready to reach his hand into the mouthpiece and strangle whoever he was talking to, I had time to clean myself up, all the while leaning against the bathroom counter—keeping the pressure off of my ankle. I now have new respect for trapeze artists. It's difficult standing on one leg for as long as I did, I have no idea how those trapeze people do it.

The sun has since set (it was light when this doctor first arrived) and it's completely dark out…yet, here I am, being picked and prodded like a laboratory rat, when I should be fast asleep. I sighed, leaning back into my pillows. The doctor himself looked like he could be my grandfather—he's that old. I don't think he can even see straight, let alone diagnosis problems. Why hasn't he retired yet?

"Are you sure?" Harry asked him, sitting on the edge of my bed, to my left. The doctor nodded.

"Absolutely positive."

"But—"

"Harry, let the man do his job," I told him. So he can leave. Then again, Harry's felt the need to question every little thing the doctor has said since he's shown up. I sighed, rubbing my eyes. I'm surprised this doctor hasn't left yet, refusing to help. Isn't there a code that says these medical professionals can't leave someone in need—so _technically_, he can't leave until he helps me. Oh, that's reassuring.

"And how did you cause so much damage to yourself, Miss Andrews?" the doctor questioned, ignoring Harry.

"I tripped on the area rug." As if it's any of his business. I glanced at him and he doesn't look like he believes me.

"I see." Oh, the skepticism in his voice is incredible.

"When will I be able to walk?" I asked, attempting to change the subject. He took in a deep breath, moving my ankle around in a few different directions, as he had done when he first came in here. And he's hurting me! "Okay, that hurts!" I practically screeched at him.

"I apologize," he said sincerely. "Well, the swelling should come down in about two to three days, and the pain also." That's comforting. "As for walking, I suggest you stay off of it for as long as possible." I shook my head. I can't do that.

"But—"

"Ann, whatever it takes," Harry chimed in. I sighed at him, trying not to roll my eyes. The trial. I want to go. Besides the fact that Harry's going to testify, I want to see why there's such a big fuss about Titanic. There was an iceberg and that's it. There is no conspiracy. I was there, I know.

"Crutches will work for you, my dear," the doctor said hopefully, gesturing to crutches he had come in with minutes ago. I wondered why he had brought them in to begin with, but I suppose after hearing the nature of this patient's injuries, he thought—Hell, let me bring them. That's what I have them for, right? "Let's not make the pain chronic, so limit the activity to the best of your ability." Yes, let's _not_ make this pain chronic. It hurts! "Then again, stiffness can be a problem…" Does he even have a medical degree?

"So, should she walk or shouldn't she?" Harry asked, trying not to sound as frustrated as he is.

"She should, _after_ a few days." He paused. "You'll be back up to your old shenanigans in no time," he said, with a smile. Men. He looked up from my ankle to me, before going for his bag. He pulled out skin-colored bandages and began to unroll it from a rather large bundle. "We'll wrap this up and you can rest, my dear." He began to tightly wrap my ankle with the bandages, all the while humming to himself. There was silence until he finished tying the bandages. "Make sure you keep it dry."

"I will," I promised. It's much easier to promise that than to promise I'll stay off my feet when I know I won't. Harry would have to tie me down to the bed to keep me still. The doctor took out what looked to be a pill bottle from his briefcase before standing up from the bed.

"Should the need arise, you can use the crutches to get yourself around. I recommend staying in bed. I urge you to, in fact. And make sure you keep that ice on it. It'll keep the swelling down." Well, Harry had been right on that account. I managed a nod. "And should your ankle get worse, the swelling or the pain, please let me know." He handed Harry the white bottle. "This may help her sleep."

"What is it?" he asked the doctor.

"It's a pain reducer, but it tends to make some patients drowsy. Let's just say I wouldn't operate heavy machinery after popping a few of them." He smiled. "I think, judging by your weight, one would be sufficient. Just have something to eat before you take one, okay?"

"Alright," I said, with a nod. "Thank you, Doctor." He smiled.

"Not a problem at all, Miss Andrews. Good evening to both of you." With that, he went down the suite's hallway and the door opened before clicking shut. I sighed somewhat of a breath of relief, glancing at Harry, still sitting on the bed. He calmed down as soon as the doctor was good and gone. His shoulders weren't tensed up anymore.

"All common sense," I muttered, putting the ice back onto my ankle. "Why did we need a doctor again?" Harry shook the pill bottle before placing it onto the bedside table.

"I had a good idea that he might give you these."

"I'm already tired," I admitted, "But, the pain factor scares me, so I'm taking one."

"Good idea." Silence. "I guess, uh…" His voice trailed off, "I guess going to the trial is out of the question."

"For me?" I questioned.

"No, for _me_." I shook my head at him.

"No, no, you have to go."

"Ann, I'm not going to leave you here—"

"They'll throw you in jail if you don't show up. They subpoenaed you, you have to go. It's law. If you don't show up…Well, it won't be a pretty sight." I can just imagine the police handcuffing Harry and dragging him away…I put a hand on his shoulder. "Besides, you can't go to jail. We just got engaged." He laughed at that, wrapping his arms around me.

"That's very true," he said, with a nod, pulling me towards him. "And for that, you get a prize."

"A prize?" I asked, with a smile.

"A _I don't want my fiancée thrown in jail _prize." I raised an eyebrow.

"Why?"

"Because some women _want_ their husbands in jail…?" I laughed.

"Okay." A kiss. "Well, I should've known!" I giggled.

"How about I order us some dinner?" he suggested. He still seems to be so happy, still beaming, about earlier today, even under these dire circumstances—me being unable to walk. I have to admit, I feel bubbly myself and I never feel bubbly. I only feel bubbly when I'm with him. Bubbly or not, I shook my head. No dinner. "No?" he asked, surprised.

"I'm still full from last night."

"You need to eat before you take any of those pills. But…" His voice trailed off, before his eyes lit up, as if an idea had struck him. "I've got it. I'll be right back." He dropped the embrace and standing up, went for the kitchen. I heard rustling of dishes and what sounded like silverware and a moment later, he reappeared into the room, holding dishes that had chocolate cake, the cake from last night, on them. Well, it's chocolate on chocolate cake. Chocolate cake with chocolate frosting…complete chocolate paradise.

"Cake?" I questioned, as he handed me a dish, a fork and a napkin.

"Cake," he replied, with a sturdy nod.

"Dessert was always better than dinner, anyway." He smiled at me, taking a bite of what looked to be the half-frozen chocolate cake as he sat down beside me.

"Very true." I took a snippet of the cake and plopped it into my mouth. Oh, chocolate heaven. I seemed to sink back into my pillows at the luxury of the dessert. "Is it good?" he asked, with a smile, leaning back into the pillows next to me.

"Yes." I took another bite. "Actually, I forgot all about the cake."

"Well…so did I. But, the thought of food and then…" He snapped his fingers. "It popped right back into my head." He smiled.

"Well, I'm proud."

"You should be," he replied, mouth half-full.

"And in all of my years, I have never seen a ship officer gobble down cake quite like you."

"We do _eat_, you know!" he laughed.

"Well, I know that!"

"My job doesn't consist of getting tea for everyone, contrary to popular belief."

"That was one of the requirements, though. Can you boil water, my good man?" I laughed.

"After getting tea, you move up to getting food for everyone," he continued.

"Then, what's the steward's job?" I asked.

"To stand around and look as if they're doing what they should be." I tried not to choke on the cake, from laughter, as I swallowed.

"That's true," I agreed, "they never actually _did_ anything. And when they tried to, I got aggravated. I was always the one they zoomed in on." I pointed to myself, just to prove a point. "Not sure why."

"You were there."

"True." As we finished off the remaining cake, there was just sounds of us eating away, like starved beasts. Alright, so I suppose I was a little more famished than I thought. When Harry was finished, he placed his dish onto the bedside table and when I was done, I handed my plate to him, and he stacked it on top of his.

"Well, then…" His voice trailed off. "Are you cold?"

"What?" How random could he be?

"I only asked, because I'll help you get under the blankets."

"Oh." I laughed at myself. "Sure." He swung his legs over the bed and stood up, pulling back the blankets. I managed to pull myself under the sheets and covered my legs up, taking the cloth filled with ice under the blanket and positioned it on my ankle.

"Comfortable?" he asked, folding the blankets over my waist.

"Perfect." He took the pill bottle and shook it.

"Want one?" he offered. "They may help." I nodded and he popped open the top, handing me one. "I'll get you some water, if you'd like—" I swallowed it, cold-turkey. "Or not." He sat down beside me, wrapping an arm around me. "Do you want any water?" I shook my head.

"No."

"Anything?" he conjured on.

"I'm fine," I reassured him.

"Alright." I brought myself closer to him, putting my head on his chest. Listening to his heartbeat under me, it's amazing how safe I feel. I really _do_ feel safe. He makes me feel so safe, it's incredible. The only other man I've ever felt this safe with was my father. It may sound strange, but it's true. As the moments seemed to pass, my eyelids began to grow heavy. "Falling asleep there, Love?" Harry asked, brushing hair from my eyes. I managed a nod, curling up beside him even more so than before. "Well, just count some sheep and then, you'll be off…" I didn't even have the chance to count, because I fell fast asleep.

I woke with a start. Looking around me, the lights are all turned off and it still seems to be night. It still looks to be night, judging from the windows looking over the city. It's still dark. Oh! I sighed angrily. Dumb medication! I didn't even sleep through the night! So much for constant, sound sleep. I sighed again, placing my head back onto my pillow. Wait, how did I ever get on my pillow? The last thing I remember was laying on Harry and now, here I am, on the pillow. I now feel soft air against my neck and froze. It sounds like breathing—soft breaking. I slowly turned my head to see Harry fast asleep beside me, under the covers with me, his arm around me. I brought myself closer to him. I can't believe he didn't get up and go to his room. Not that I'm sad he didn't, I want him with me. I wouldn't have it any other way.

I quickly glanced around the room and see that he had his officer's uniform overcoat thrown over a chair. Looking at him, I could now see the white starch of the shirt that he wore, under the overcoat—even in the dark. It's that white. His tie is also thrown to the floor, along with his shoes.

"You awake?" he mumbled to me. I almost jumped a mile, but when he opened his eyes, I nodded, managing a smile. "Hi, stranger."

"Hi."

"You passed out immediately after taking one of those," he murmured, his accent as present as could be.

"So did you," I replied softly, "and here you are."

"I can leave…" he said, gesturing to the door. "I didn't actually plan on staying here all night. I didn't want to leave you here by yourself. But, I'll leave now—" I shook my head and he stopped.

"No, no, that's okay. Stay."

"You sure?" I nodded.

"Positive. I mean, after all, we'll have to get used to each other _eventually_."

"The terrors of marriage," he yawned, smiling. "Anyhow, do you have any idea how soft you breathe? I thought, for a few moments earlier, you stopped breathing completely."

"Corset," I said simply, with a shrug.

"I was afraid to move you," he admitted. "I thought I was going to break you."

"No porcelain here." He smiled.

"Well, you never can be too sure." He paused, touching my cheek gently. "You look like you are made of porcelain. And now…" He kissed my cheek, "I've come to the conclusion that you are _too good_ for me." I laughed at that.

"Now, why would you think that?"

"Because you are. You're everything a man could ever want, Ann."

"But, I don't want every other man." I smiled. "I want you."

"And I'm very lucky. But, to be honest, I wasn't sure if you would even say yes," he suddenly admitted. "You're too beautiful."

"You're shocked I agreed to marry you?" I asked skeptically. He seemed to practically blush under the cover of night and the sheets, and I laughed, bringing myself even closer to him. "I wouldn't have been able to say no."

"Seriously?" he asked, unsure of whether to believe me or not. "I was also unsure because I could barely form the sentence. It took a lot of energy!" He chuckled to himself as I attempted to straighten his shirt collar.

"Now, not to get off-topic with you…" One thing I never asked him.

"But, you will…" he smiled.

"Yes, I will! What time do you have to be there for tomorrow?"

"For the trial?" I nodded. "I have no idea. I want to say the paper said ten, at some hotel…The name escapes me now—"

"That's not all that early. You better check it. That and the hotel name!" I giggled.

"I will," he promised, "in the morning."

"If you're late, it could mean jail time…" I laughed, tapping his nose for effect.

"I won't be. I'll leave at the last minute, anyway."

"Why? It's better to be early—"

"I want to stay with you for as long as I can."

"You'll see me!" I laughed. "I'm not going anywhere."

"You _can't_ go anywhere."

"True, true." I smiled, looking up at him. "I almost want to go. To the trial."

"You and I both know it's for the best if you just stay here." I sighed.

"I know."

"Then, once you're better, we can inform your mother of our wonderful news and you won't be on crutches." I laughed out loud at that, hiding my laughter in his shoulder. The sarcasm in his voice is as thick as molasses.

"She'll be so happy, she'll go pick flowers on the side yard while skipping…" my voice trailed off as he started to laugh.

"Will she make wreaths of daisies for us to wear?" I smiled.

"Daisy wreaths and _wheat_ wreaths, for the wedding." He started to laugh more so than before, remembering our conversation on Titanic. How could that conversation be forgotten to begin with?

"Oh, it'll be wonderful," he choked out between his fits of laughing.

"Just lovely, I'm sure." I sighed, rubbing my eyes. "Oh, the…_wedding_."

"What about it?" I sat up, staring at him. Doesn't he realize how much time goes into a wedding? I doubt it. He's a man. Men never understand. Then again, _I_ don't understand what all the fuss is about when it concerns weddings. Why can't they be simple?

"We need to plan and…all of these other things need to be scheduled! There's so much work to do—" He laughed, putting a finger to my lips to shut me up.

"Love, it won't be complicated." He paused, glancing down at me as I put my head back onto my pillow. "I always thought weddings should be small, anyway."

"You do?" I asked. He nodded.

"Surprised?"

"No. I always thought the same thing." He smiled.

"Really?"

"Mm-hmm. Every wedding I ever went to, it was a big to-do. Besides the fact that all of those marriages were arranged, it was so formal. It wasn't personal."

"Been there, done that," he laughed.

"My cousin's wedding alone made me never want to get married." I sighed. "I want our wedding to be personal, Harry. Quiet, small…"

"With as few people as possible?" he suggested.

"Sure, why not?" I laughed at the idea, but loved it all the more. The only person I really would want at my wedding would be my father and I'm sure he will be there. "What about your family?"

"Ann, I haven't spoken to anyone in my family for years." Oh, right.

"But, don't you think they deserve to know you're getting married?" He shrugged a shoulder.

"Not really, no. Why would I want to bring them into something that isn't about them? They'll turn the whole ceremony into something about them. It's our happiness that matters, not their approval." He stifled a chuckle. "And besides, I'm sure your family will have enough to say."

"Screw them." Even in the darkness, I could see his eyes grow wide.

"Excuse me?"

"Screw 'em!" I repeated, slamming my fist down onto the mattress. "If they're not happy, they can all go to Hell. Both my family and yours." My mother may think I'm throwing my life away, but I don't feel as if I am. I love Harry and even if he had no job, and was living on the street, I'd still love him. Although I must admit, I think he looks great in that officer's uniform.

"I love that, Antoinette, I really do. I think, though, you've been spending too much time with me!" I shook my head. Never enough time.

"No, I don't think so!" I kissed him quickly on the cheek. "I love you."

"I love you." He kissed my cheek a few times, to my left and then to my right, kissing me on the nose. I couldn't help but giggle until he kissed me, making the laughter abruptly stop. As he let go of the kiss, he took my hand. "Dear God, you're freezing," he mumbled, taking my other hand. I am?

"What?"

"Your hands are freezing."

"I don't feel cold."

"Well…" He pulled up the bed's comforter, stuck at our feet, and wrapped it around me. "You're cold." He took both of my hands and rubbed them, trying to get my blood flowing. I don't think he's having much success.

"Harry, I'm not cold," I laughed. He smiled, continuing to rub my hands.

"You say one thing, your hands say another." His feet, conveniently still in socks, hit mine and he jumped. "Oh, Ann, your feet are freezing, too!" he exclaimed, tiredly laughing.

"I have no circulation in my feet or my hands. Poor circulation." I squeezed his hands. "I'm not wearing socks like you are."

"Well, stockings count…"

"You and I both know they don't! They're much thinner than socks!"

"I wouldn't know," he said, with a shrug. He continued to rub my hands, before looking up at me. "You know, I never got a chance to ask you…" His voice trailed off.

"Ask me what?"

"Are you happy?" _Happy_? He's asking me if I'm happy? Is he serious? How could I not be happy? I feel like the luckiest girl on this Earth. I'm getting married. I never thought I'd be one of those brides-to-be who was just giddy, but here I am…giddy. Me, Antoinette Andrews, giddy. I never thought I'd be this excited about anything in my entire existence. Thinking back, I never thought I'd be this happy ever again. I was _so_ miserable. Now, I'm so joyful and all of these other emotions—And that's all my father wanted for me, for me to be happy. I kept my eyes locked on the dark beige ceiling and I know Harry's just staring at me, waiting for an answer.

"Besides my damaged ankle?" I asked.

"Besides the ankle."

"Yes."


	43. Chapter Forty Two

"Sleeping Beauty! Antoinette!" I slowly opened one eye and then the other. I can see, between strands of messy hair, Harry rushing through the doorway, holding packages, boxes and bags galore. "You still asleep?" he asked, with a large smile as he placed everything down on the floor, beside the bed. "Ann?" He put a hand on my shoulder and I nodded, brushing my hair back away from my eyes.

"Well, I _was_ asleep," I mumbled, putting my head back down on the pillow, snuggling closer to it, as I pulled my blankets closer.

"Oh, come on, Antoinette, get up. I got you something." He sounds completely winded as he gestured to the packages around us.

"I see that," I noted aloud. I managed a slight smile at him. Even though I'm half-asleep, I still know when I _should_ smile. One moment, he was here with me and now, I wake up and as it turns out, he's been gone all morning. He never mentioned where he was going, but then again, I was passed out by then. My ankle had started to hurt after our midnight conversation and after another one of those nice pills, I was fast asleep.

"Were you going to sleep all day?" he asked.

"That was the plan."

"I thought you wanted to go to the trial!" he argued. That's true. I would like to go. If nothing else, I'd like to know who's going to testify. I'm sure Ismay will testify eventually—he does have such a high position at the White Star Line, after all. Why, if Ismay were to testify, he wouldn't be able to lie on the stand. I sighed. He probably would, even under oath. The scum bag. Either way, I'd like to be there. I want to see who testifies, who says what—and who may lie.

"Plans change," I mumbled. I don't think he heard me, merely because he didn't say anything to rebuttal the comment.

"Anyway," he said, sitting down beside me, pulling me up from the bed with a smile and a kiss, "good morning." Well, that woke me up.

"Morning."

"So…" He took one of the many boxes from the floor, this one rather large and handed it to me. "I got this for you. Actually—" He gestured to all the piles of wrapped packages, "I got _all_ of this for you."

"Harry, you didn't." He smiled.

"Yes, I _did_. Why not open this one first?" I looked down at the box in my hand. "Go on, go on, open it." I hesitated, but opened up the lid of the box, much to my better judgement—after seeing the expression on Harry's face. He looks so excited, he really does. I placed the lid down beside me and unfolded the tissue paper in the box. Oh. My. It's a dress. A beautiful…I took it out of the box—a beautiful afternoon dress. It's made of complete silk and it's completely dyed pink, white, purple, blue, and has lace and slight beading on the bodice. "So, what do you think?" I smiled.

"Oh, Harry—It's so beautiful!" I hugged him tightly, holding up the dress for even closer inspection. He even got my size right. "But…" He laughed, rubbing his face.

"There's always a but…"

"How did you ever find out my size?" He smiled.

"A man never reveals his secrets!" I held up the dress to me. "And it's your color. I thought it might suit you. The woman in the store said it was completely in fashion, all the rage—" I shook my head, putting a finger to his lips.

"I adore it."

"Really?" he asked, skeptical. I nodded.

"Really."

"I thought I'd bring the clothing to you, since you're immobile for the time being. I thought you deserved to get out of that dress, it looks like it's ready to fall apart." He can _even_ read minds. Oh, I love this man.

"And that is very much appreciated." I folded the dress back up, and put it to the side as Harry shoved a few more packages back into my lap.

"Open the smaller one first," he urged, pointing to a small box on the top of the pile.

"You know," I began, "I already love you. You don't have to give me things to _make_ me love you!"

"I like buying things for you." No doubt he does! I can't even count how many packages and bags are in here, there are so many.

"But, I love, _love_…really love you," I said, batting my eyelashes as I put my forehead to his. He smiled.

"And I really, _really_ like getting things for you."

"I'm going to put you in the poorhouse," I warned as I opened up the little box, wrapped up in red ribbon. I took off the top and sitting there, in a cushion was a dragonfly hair comb. I carefully lifted it out of the box and held it towards the light. It's six-barred and the dragonfly's wings seem to be stain-glassed, blue and green. The outer wings are blue, the inner wings are green, while the dragonfly's body itself is made of a turquoise blue marble. It's lovely. "I've never seen anything like this," I told him. He smiled.

"It looked a little bit like the hair comb I saw you wearing the day we met." How sweet was _that_? I looked up momentarily from the comb to him, and he still has that goofy smile on his face. I can't help but keep a smile on myself. What's there not to be happy about? I'm engaged. "I thought you liked them, so…" He gestured to the piece of jewelry in my hand. Whatever hair comb it was, the one I wore on Titanic, it's gone now. I can't even remember what it was or how it looked, but I know I wore it maybe twice the whole time I ever owned it. And Harry remembered it.

"I love it. You've got good taste…for a _seaman_."

"Was there a compliment hidden in there?" he asked with a smirk.

"Take it as you want."

"Well, I take it as a compliment." I shrugged as he took one box from my left and handed it to me. "I thought this was perfect, too." I hesitated, but opened the box to see yet another dress. This one's definitely more formal, a morning dress, a church dress—unlike the other silk creation.

"Harry…" I don't even want to touch it, it looks so delicate. "It's gorgeous!" I smiled at him. "You have to stop yourself when you shop!"

"I wasn't sure what you would like—so if I saw something…"

"So, if you saw something, you just bought it?" He nodded.

"I guess you could say that." He pointed to the dress. "You know, I thought this would be perfect for today."

"Today?" I laughed. "Harry, I'm staying here today. In bed. Where I belong, remember?" He remembers hair combs, but not the conversation we had last night? Selective memory, that's what he has.

"Well, don't you want to go to the trial?"

"If my ankle wasn't all—" He pointed to the crutches, before smiling.

"Yet another reason I wanted that doctor to come. Crutches, Ann. Crutches are the answer to your problem!"

"You want me to go?" I questioned, with a raised eyebrow.

"Don't you want to?"

"Well, I did…"

"So, we'll go."

"But, what about our plan, my mother, that should be fun…"

"I see it as this: You want to go, I'm going to be there. Why not?" I smiled.

"You want me to be your arm candy, don't you?" I asked, with a raised eyebrow.

"Having you with me would be make this experience much more pleasant, I'll admit…"

"You want to show off my ring, don't you?"

"I need to have _something_!" he laughed.

"Harry, to be honest, my ankle hurts and—" He automatically could tell I was lying. All I want to do right now is go back to bed, damn it!

"You chickening out on me now?" he asked, with a smile. I shook my head.

"No." Even though I want to go, I don't know if I could face all of those people. And Titanic. Titanic. My father. Will. I don't know if I can handle it. Besides, this bed is so nice and warm…

"Ann?" I looked up from the box in my lap to him. "You don't have to go," he said softly, "I'd understand if you don't want to—" He paused, breaking into a smile. "But, you'd get to see Bruce Ismay."

"What's so great about that?" I mumbled. "He's a jerk."

"Well, sure, he's a _jerk_…"

"And a lying, cheating scumbag—" He laughed.

"Yes, but he's _our_ jerk. We always find something to talk about when he's around. Who knows what shenanigans he may pull at this…" He cupped my chin in his hand. "Come now, Antoinette. It's a beautiful day out there. The sun may do us both some good." How badly does he really want me there?

"I doubt he'll even be there," I sighed. "We can only pray for such joys."

"Oh, he'll be there. He is, after all, so high up on the White Star Line corporate ladder." He imitated Ismay going up the corporate ladder with his hand on the bed, making his way towards my hand. He took it, fixing my ring. "It could be _interesting_, if nothing else."

"I don't have to do anything, do I?" I asked him.

"Just be your wonderful self." Oh, sure, that should be easy. In theory. "But, if we're going to go, you need to get ready. We've got to be there for ten. And it is now—" He glanced down at his watch, the watch that wasn't even right for a little while on ship. "Nine-thirty!"

"You're kidding!" It takes me at least half an hour to get dressed. Then again, that was with Mary. Mary. I wonder if she's okay, what she's doing, what's going on with her…

"I wish I was!" He dropped my hand and stood up, beginning to rustle through the packages. "Okay, okay, coat, shoes…" He placed box after box on the bed. How does he expect me to get out of bed with all of these boxes blocking my exit?

"Harry, I can figure it out," I attempted to reassure him, trying not to laugh at his frantic behavior. "I can figure out what goes with what—"

"We've got to get a move on!"

"Alright, okay, don't panic…" I moved the boxes to my right as he continued to shuffle through the packages, pushing the blankets off of me. He didn't notice when I stood, except for when I fell on top of him. In one swift movement, he caught me and I was safe.

"Careful," he warned.

"Well, you said, get a move on!" I exclaimed.

"I didn't mean I wanted you to break _another _body part." He smiled at me, placing his hands on my waist, pulling me in closer to him. I kissed him on the cheek.

"We better hurry," I said simply. "Don't want to miss any Bruce Ismay catastrophes."

"They don't give brandy out at things like this, do they?" he asked me, smirking.

"Not this early in the morning, my friend." I kissed him. "Not this early. Then again." Another kiss. "Cigars are universal."


	44. Chapter Forty Three

The Waldorf-Astoria Hotel. Its' located on Fifth Avenue in New York City, and is probably one of the stuffiest hotels I have ever been in. Then again, this is New York—everything is either for royalty or for the slums. As it is, I was lucky to get _this_ information out of Harry on the way to the hotel via taxi cab. He refused to say a word, until I threatened to throw my engagement ring out the window. Then and only then did he tell me where we were going.

I know the history of this place. Even though I've never been, I remember my father discussing it one night over dinner. I think he said the whole project started out as two hotels. I remember him distinctively saying one hotel belonged to John Jacob Astor…God rest his soul. I wonder if he survived, but then again…first-class men were never allowed on the lifeboats. And trust me, I remember that much. Either way, one hotel was open by his cousin, the other by him. I guess his cousin ended up building the hotel next to a family member's home and so on and so on. I suppose it doesn't really matter, but it seems pretty coincidental that a Titanic passenger built the hotel that is now being used to investigate the disaster.

Going up the elevator towards the room the man at the desk told us to, I barely uttered a word. I have to learn how to walk with these crutches eventually, and it's a lot harder than it looks. I'm keeping my concentration on that task. Harry kept eyeing me, making sure I didn't fall and he practically kept his right arm wrapped around me the entire time we had to walk. He joked that he could carry me, and I almost put him up to the offer, but decided against it. I should only be like this for a few weeks, and then I'll be able to walk again. I don't want to break the man's back.

We followed the chatter when we left the elevator to the end of a long, carpeted hallway—a hallway with white-washed walls, and little lit lanterns, even though the sun was shining through the windows. It looks a lot like Titanic's interior, first-class. I refused to let my mind wander back that far…but it looked like the hallway Harry and I had run through to get away from Ismay, where I had found that little boy, where my father told me it was time to go. I shook my head of the thought, glancing quickly into the room where we stood to the far right. Rows and rows of pews filled the room, it looks to almost be a church, but maybe it's not. Maybe they're just chairs. My eyesight is awful, I know.

"We on time?" I asked Harry as we stopped our walking. I leaned against the doorway, and also on the crutches for support. He looked down at his watch, nodding.

"And with five minutes to spare!"

"Hey, Ann! Lowe!" Coming out of one of the rows of seats was Molly Brown, with Officer Charles Lightoller behind her. She had this enormous smile on her face and so did Lightoller. She ran towards me and when she reached me, she wrapped her arms around me into a tight hug—as if we were long-lost classmates. "Oh, how are you?" she asked, with a smile. "Besides the crutches, that is. Hurt yourself already?" I nodded, admitting defeat.

"Dumb area carpets," I said, rolling my eyes as Molly hugged a startled Harry. "But, I'm alright. You?" Oh, I'm better than alright! I'm grand!

"Never better!"

"Hello, Antoinette," Lightoller said, tipping his hat to me after shaking hands with Harry. I managed a smile.

"Hi."

"So, what did you do?" Molly asked, gesturing to the crutches. "Break your foot, break your leg, what?"

"Sprained my ankle."

"Did that hurt or what?" Lightoller asked, with a small smile.

"Oh, it _hurt_." I brushed a few strands of hair from my eyes and that's when Molly whistled, taking my hand unexpectedly.

"And what's this we have here?" she asked me, pointing to my engagement ring. "Look at this beaut!" she said to Lightoller, nudging him before gesturing to my ring. I glanced at Harry, who was turning a deep red. She whistled as Lightoller took my hand, moving it back and forth to get a good look at the diamonds. He whistled himself, impressed.

"Well, look at that!" he laughed, slapping Harry proudly on the shoulder. "About damn time, my friend! About damn time!"

"Charles—"

"She's perfect for you! Keeps you on your toes! Never seen a woman in my life play poker the way this one does—"

"Poker?" Molly interrupted, raising an eyebrow. Lightoller bit his lower lip, as if he knew the jig was up. She laughed, slapping him on the arm. "Oh, I'm kidding! I've always been a card girl myself." She then gestured to Harry, pointing to my hand, which she was still holding onto with a tight grip. "Well, Officer, you've got good taste." She glanced at me. "My husband would never buy me something like this."

"He doesn't realize how good he has it," I smiled. It's true. Margaret Brown is lively, vivacious, she's a wonderful woman. She's someone who isn't phony, she's just who she is and if you've got a problem with it, well, that's just too bad.

"Ann said the same thing," Harry said, "I thought it was nice." He shrugged, sticking his hands in his coat pockets, as if he was still embarrassed.

"Oh, Hell, it's better than nice!" Lightoller laughed. "I've never seen so many diamonds in all my life." I suppose he hasn't ever seen or met the Countess of Roathes. The diamonds that woman has—incredible. I love my ring, either way. I looked down at it and it seemed to gleam back up at me. Harry picked it out for me and only me. It's something I will always cherish. "Plus, Harry, she's beautiful—"

"I get it, I get it!" Harry laughed. "I lucked out!"

"You two want cigars so you can brag outside?" Molly asked, squeezing my hand. "Either way, Antoinette." She turned back to me. "The ring's absolutely beautiful. Just don't let him go cheap on you after you two get married." If she only knew how much he has _already_ bought for me, how much he's already spoiled me…I don't need anything. I laughed at her comment, merely because of the way she said it. She was dead-serious. "You two are going to be happy."

"I hope so," I admitted. I have no doubts.

"Well, if Officer Lowe here could get you out of that shell of yours, he deserves to marry you!" She laughed, probably recalling her unsuccessful attempt to try to get me to talk to her—when I first met Harry. "You sure you didn't keel over when he proposed?" she kidded.

"That was _before_," I reassured her. I was surprised, sure, but I didn't keel over. Thankfully, I was sitting. If I hadn't been, I might've fallen over. Actually…I was _very_ surprised, but how could I say no to him? He was the one man I truly could imagine spending the rest of my life with.

"Either way, congratulations to you both!" Molly said, with a smile.

"Yes, congratulations!" Lightoller agreed. "So…" His voice trailed off, "when are you two lovebirds getting this all legalized?" He leaned against the doorway of the room we all should be in by now, in eager anticipation. I glanced at Harry, who still looked beet red and we both began to speak, but stopped. We chuckled to each other at that, but in reality…I shrugged.

"I have no idea," I admitted.

"As quick and as painlessly as possible would be your best bet," Molly said, with a sturdy nod. "Engagements shouldn't be long."

"Well, what if I get sick of him?" I asked her, before beginning to laugh. She smiled and Lightoller began to laugh.

"If you get sick of him, I'll marry you," Lightoller promised, holding out his hand in offering.

"Why, thank you—" I went to take his hand as a joke, but Harry grabbed me, wrapping his arms around me tightly, squeezing me.

"Charlie, I don't think she'd ever be that _desperate_!" he laughed to Lightoller.

"Well, she agreed to marry _you_…And besides, I think Antoinette Lightoller has a nice ring to it!" he exclaimed, howling in laughter.

"Well, I think Antoinette Lowe has a nicer ring to it!" At that point, we were all roaring with laughter. Harry had a good way of hiding it, though—he merely hid his fits of happiness into my shoulder and into my hair. I hope he doesn't poke his eye out with that hair comb.

"Harry, you're going to make my sprain my other ankle!" I managed to say between my giggles as he held onto me, tighter than before. We shouldn't be laughing this early, we shouldn't be laughing when we're all here about something serious, but I can't help it. Harry has a lock on me, as if he thinks I'm going to throw my engagement ring out the window and crutch off with Charles Lightoller…into the sunset. Never. I love Harry too much.

"Alright, alright, children!" Molly laughed, stepping between Harry, Lightoller and myself to stop a comical brawl. "Either way," she said, clearing her throat, "it's nice to know something pleasant came of Titanic. Isn't it?" She shot a look at Lightoller, who nodded. I tensed up at the sound of Titanic. Oh, Titanic—I try to put that damn ship out of my mind for merely a moment and I just, I just can't. My father's Titanic. Harry must've felt my shoulders tense up, for he put his cheek to mine, pulling me out of any thoughts of that ship—before kissing me on the cheek.

"Why don't we go inside?" he suggested into my ear. "Make sure we have somewhere to sit?" He shot a look at both Lightoller and Molly. She glanced at me, heartbroken—as if she had struck a chord. It's not her fault. It's not anyone's fault. Well, no, I'm lying. I blame Bruce Ismay for this whole catastrophe, the alcoholic.

"Everyone here for the Titanic Inquiry, please take your seats!" shouted an unfamiliar voice. We all glanced into the room and standing towards the front looked to be a very well-dressed man, a Bible in his hand. "You four coming in?" he yelled, agitated, gesturing to us. Of course, everyone already seated felt the need to glare at us suspiciously and there was some light muttering. We all managed a slight nod and began our way in. The back row was the only one that wasn't taken, so Molly, Lightoller, myself and Harry took our seats, in that order. Harry helped me sit and now, what am I supposed to do with these crutches?

"Here, Love," Harry said, holding out his hands for them, "Let me have them." I gave them to him and he took my crutches, strategically leaning them against this empty chair, to his right. "How's that?"

"Fine."

"Guards, shut the doors!" This man really wants to take charge. I think he actually considered locking us all out. I glanced over my shoulder and two uniformed police officers were shutting the doors that we had just gone through. They stood together, where the doors met, now crossing their arms over their chest. "Hello, ladies and gentlemen," the man at the front of the room said, clearing his throat. "Can everyone hear me?"

There were nods unanimous across the large room as his echoed voice faded. I looked about me. Behind whoever this man was, was what looked to be a desk and then to either side of him, were more desks. Every chair was occupied. And now, looking through the crowd, I can see some of Titanic's surviving officers, in their uniforms, along with people who must've been on the ship. I merely suggest this because their eyes all look sunken in and look just as sad as I am.

"Okay, then." The man pointed to himself. "I am Senator William Smith. We are here to inquire and investigate the Titanic disaster…" I rolled my eyes, tugging on Harry's sleeve.

"Iceberg, anyone?" I whispered into his ear. He hid his impending laughter, but smiled. It's not funny, I know, but this is absolutely ridiculous. There was an iceberg. Titanic hit the iceberg, a lot of people died and that was it. A lot of people. I sighed, holding back my tears. A lot of people, a lot of people I didn't know, a lot of people I _did_ know. My father. Will. Henry Wilde. Captain Smith. Titanic's brave crew and even the passengers, no one deserved to die that way. It was too cold, an awful way to leave this world. It wasn't right.

"I will not take any shenanigans or speaking during this inquiry!" the Senator shouted angrily, eyeing me. Harry looked down at me and his eyes widened. We both tried not to laugh, but straightened up, to make it seem like we were listening. We're not. Harry fixed my ring meticulously, managing a smile at me before taking my hands. "Now that I have _everyone's_ attention, let me say how much I appreciate all of the people who came to testify." Well, nobody had a choice, you idiot, you subpoenaed everyone. "I know how many of you want to just return home and be with your families, so let's try to make this as painless as possible." He doesn't care. And why should he? He doesn't know. He wasn't _there_. I watched intently as this Senator retrieved a folded piece of paper from his pocket. He unfolded it quickly and straightening it, he looked about the crowd. "The first witness I'd like to call to the stand is Mister Bruce Ismay."


	45. Chapter Forty Four

The silence in the room is incredible. As Bruce Ismay adjusted himself in his chair at the front of the room, seconds after having been sworn in, I realize he looks like a nervous wreck. He should be a nervous wreck and seems to be twitching. Then again, that may be his normal persona. But, those bags under his eyes are new. The bandage on his nose from my punch _isn't_ new. I hear clicking of keys and looking in the direction of the sound, I now notice a woman in the corner typing on a typewriter, in front of these rich, red velvet curtains that went down from the ceiling to the floor. Velvet! Can you even imagine? Velvet curtains that look to be fifteen feet long! Anyhow, the typist…She must be a stenographer, making sure everything said is put on record. She types so fast! I never noticed her before, but maybe she just came into the picture, into the room to do her job. At this point, who knows.

The whole atmosphere of the room seems to have changed. Right after that Senator Smith character called out his name, the room tensed up. Everyone had the same look on their face, the look of anger. Everyone was angry with him. Including me. I glanced at Lightoller to my left, who was eyeing Ismay suspiciously, and then to Molly, who had a monotone expression before turning to Harry. He looked down at me, forcing a smile. He knows I hate Ismay. Why did I even bother to show up? I knew he might be here. Why add this onto my already filled mind?

"He looks like he needs a cigarette," Harry whispered into my ear. I tried not to smile, but couldn't help it.

"He does, doesn't he?" I whispered back. He nodded, letting go of my hands and wrapping an arm around me. I turned my attention back to the chaos known as Bruce Ismay as he continued to move around in his chair, unable to find a comfortable position. Smith was just pacing back and forth, in front of Ismay, looking to be somewhat deep in thought. Just ask him what you want to ask him! This shouldn't take as long as it is.

"Mr. Ismay," Smith began, "for the purpose of simplifying this hearing, I will ask you a few preliminary questions." I groaned and I swear, I think most of the other people in the room did, too, including the men at the tables behind the Senator. This is not going to simplify _anything_—it's just going to drag this damn inquiry out. "First, state your full name, please?" Ismay relaxed his shoulders.

"Joseph Bruce Ismay." So, Bruce isn't his full name? Not surprising. Everyone at the White Star Line seems to have some kind of code name.

"And you place of residence?"

"Liverpool."

"Your age?"

"I shall be fifty on the twelfth of December." If anyone lets him live long enough to reach his fiftieth birthday. Harry squeezed my shoulder and he leaned into my ear.

"Why did I think he was older?" he whispered.

"The alcohol." That has to be the reason. Either way, he was too old to be eyeing me the way he does. He could be my father. I shuddered at that thought.

"And your occupation?" Smith's emotionless voice put my thoughts back onto the situation at hand. Let's see how long it takes for either man to lose their patience. My money's on Ismay, but then again, Smith looks just as tense as Ismay does. He may just…_snap_. Eyeing everyone in the crowd around me, I don't think anyone here's a reporter. How will the newspapers get the information about the snapping incident—when there is one, with no journalist here, taking notes? That reporter, huh…I wonder what happened to him…The one who knew who I was, that jerk. Maybe he got a new camera!

"Ship owner," Ismay answered.

"Are you an officer of the White Star Line?" Ismay nodded.

"I am."

"In what capacity?"

"Managing director." So, he's _not_ the President of the White Star Line, he's just a manager. I'm now happy I came to this trial. I'm actually learning something.

"As such officer," Smith said, clearing his throat, "were you officially designated to make the trial trip of the Titanic?" Ismay hesitated, but shook his head.

"No."

"Were you a voluntary passenger?"

"A voluntary passenger, yes." A voluntary passenger that got everyone killed. I rolled my eyes. I can't believe this. I thought all along he had been asked to board, but he _wanted_ to get on with the rest of us. Then, he bosses every White Star Line employee around, telling them that he is so high up in the company, that he could get them fired, and actually _expects_ them to listen to him. Jerk. A voluntary passenger!

"Where did you board the ship?" This could take years, I realize. I rubbed my eyes tiredly, almost scratching myself with my ring. Oops.

"At Southampton."

"At what time?"

"I think it was nine-thirty in the morning." He _thinks_? Selective amnesia now? Give me a break. I'm sure he's still talking about the broken china. The man is like an elephant—he forgets nothing and I mean, _nothing_.

"Of what day?"

"The tenth of April."

"The port of destination was New York?" Ismay stifled a nod.

"New York," he repeated.

"Will you kindly tell the committee the circumstances surrounding your voyage, and as succinctly as possible, beginning with your going aboard the vessel at Liverpool, your place on the voyage, together with any circumstances you feel would be helpful to us in this inquiry?" Everyone crumbled into their chairs. This is going to take all day, at this rate. Or maybe all year.

"In the first place," Ismay began, "I would like to express my sincere grief at this deplorable catastrophe." Is he _serious_? When nobody laughed, I realized: dear God, he must be serious. He doesn't grieve over anything, this man. The only thing he has ever grieved over would be the fact that he missed his brandy and cigars in that smoking room. "I understand," he continued, "that you gentlemen have been appointed as a committee of the Senate to inquire into the circumstances. So far as we are concerned, we welcome it. We court the fullest inquiry." Oh, here he goes—he's going to complement the White Star Line to the Heavens…I fought the incredible urge to roll my eyes. "We have nothing to conceal; nothing to hide."

Well, that's _one_ lie. I'm sure everyone here would love to hear about what occurred on that voyage…about how he threatened officers with their jobs, about the strange, inappropriate looks he gave me, how poorly he treated my father, as if he was an imbecile…And in reality, I could go on and on. I glanced at Harry, who had a look of skepticism on his face.

"_We _have plenty to hide," he whispered into my ear.

"The ship was built in Belfast," Ismay explained. "She was the latest thing in the art of shipbuilding; absolutely no money was spared in her construction." I knew the money factor was going to come into play eventually. "She was not built by contract. She was simply built on a commission." He paused, taking in a deep breath. "She left Belfast, as far as I remember—I am not absolutely clear on these dates, I think it was on the first of April. She underwent her trials, which were entirely satisfactory. She then proceeded to Southampton; arriving there on Wednesday." The Smith nodded slightly, looking somewhat pleased at Ismay's all out supposed _confession_. If he only knew…

"Will you describe the trials she went through?"

"I was not present." Of course he wasn't. He was probably drinking. My father, I'm sure, was there, writing in that notebook of his, like he always was. That notebook, the notebook that is behind a locked door back at the hotel and will never get touched. Not by anyone for any reason. "She arrived at Southampton on Wednesday, the third, I think, and sailed on Wednesday, the tenth. She left Southampton at twelve 'o' clock. She arrived in Cherbourg that evening, having run over at sixty-eight revolutions…"

As he continued to talk, I didn't listen. I kept my eyes to the floor. I don't understand any of the ship talk, anyway, so why do I even bother to listen? Until I heard him say something about Sunday night. The iceberg. I looked up from the floor as Harry took my right hand. Ismay's still just…_talking_. I want to hear what he has to say about the iceberg, about that night.

"The accident took place on Sunday night. What the exact time was, I do not know. I was in bed myself, asleep, when the accident happened. The ship sank, I am told, at two-twenty." And why wasn't he on the ship? Oh, he jumped onto a lifeboat. How could I have forgotten? "That sir, I think, is all I can tell you." He sighed. "I understand that it has been started that the ship was going at full speed. The ship never had been at full speed. The full speed of the ship is seventy-eighty revolutions. She works up to eighty. As far as I am aware, she never exceeded seventy-five revolutions. She had not all her boilers on. None of the single-ended boilers were on." As if he were to know. I was down there in that boiler room, not him. They sounded like they were all on to me. "It was our intention, if we had fine weather on Monday afternoon or Tuesday, to drive the ship at full speed. That, owing to the unfortunate catastrophe, never eventuated." Well, _I_ could've told the Senator that!

"Will you describe what you did after the impact or collision?" I found myself rubbing my eyes once more. I can barely keep my eyes open. Even though watching Ismay squirm under an imaginary interrogation light is awfully fun, I can barely keep my eyes open.

"You alright, Love?" Harry whispered, concerned, into my ear. I nodded.

"I'm fine."

"I presume the impact awakened me." Ismay. I held back my rather large sigh. "I lay in bed for a moment or two afterwards, not realizing, probably, what had happened. Eventually I got up and walked along the passageway and met one of the stewards and said, What has happened? He said, I do not know, sir." See, his memory is just fine. Lying, cheating scumbag— "I then went back into my room, put my coat on, and went up on the bridge, where I found Captain Smith. I asked him what had happened and he said, We have struck ice. I said, Do you think the ship is seriously damaged? He said, I am afraid he is." How can he really remember what everyone said? But, that ugly coat he's talking about—it looked like a robe, more than anything. It wasn't all that warm, I bet.

As he continued to discuss who else he spoke with, including Titanic's chief engineer, someone I had never met—but, thinking now, maybe he was the one who was all upset I was down in the boiler room that night. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't. Ismay told the Senator that he thought Titanic's pumps could keep us all afloat. Pumps. I don't remember pumps. I remember watertight doors. But…oh, oh! The pumps.

"The pumps buy you time, but minutes only." My father's voice rang through my ears, and I took in a deep breath before shaking my head of the memory. I need to keep my eyes on Ismay, he's the main focus. But, he can't help but make me think of my father. I sighed. Ismay. Ismay, Ismay, Ismay. He continued to talk about going to the bridge and he heard the order about unloading the boats. He supposedly assisted as best he could, but at this point, I suppose he doesn't realize the damage Titanic had gone through. He kept on talking, talking, and talking…and with the droning attitude of his voice, I find my eyes drooping yet again. Stay awake, Antoinette, stay awake. 

"Did the officers seem to know the serious character of this collision?" Alright, stay focused, Ann…stay focused. How long has this been going on for?

"That I could not tell, sir, because I had no conversation with them." Smith raised a suspicious eyebrow at him.

"Did any officer say to you that it evidently was not serious?"

"No, sir."

"All the officers with whom you talked expressed the same fear, saying that it was serious?" When was Ismay even talking to any of the officers? I glanced at Lightoller, who looks as confused as I am.

"I did not speak to any of them, sir," Ismay repeated.

"Except the Captain?" He nodded.

"Except the Captain and the chief engineer. I have already stated that I had spoken to them; but to no other officer that I remember." He sounds agitated, but he fiddled with his tie nervously. Alcohol and cigar withdrawal, no doubt.

"You went to the bridge immediately after you had returned to your room?" Smith asked, leaning against the table Ismay was sitting at.

"After I put on my coat I went up to the bridge."

"And you found the Captain there?" Oh, for God's sake!

"The Captain was there."

"In what part of the ship were your quarters?" A little random, there, Senator.

"My quarters were on B-deck, just aft of the main companionway." The Senator sighed, rubbing his own eyes.

"I wish you would describe just where that was."

"The sun deck is the upper deck of all. Then we have what we call the A-deck, which is the next deck, and then the B-deck."

"The second passenger deck?"

"We carry very few passengers on A-deck," Ismay explained. I was there and so was my father, along with a few other very, very rich passengers. I wouldn't say my family's rich, my mother acts like we are—but we aren't. I'm sure my father had his pick of the rooms he wanted, so maybe he just chose that deck. I really don't know. "I think we have a diagram here that will show you these decks." He gestured to a diagram rolled up on a table nearby. Smith ran for it and unrolled it in front of Ismay. "Here it is." He pointed to something on the diagram I couldn't quite make out from where I am. "…And there is the room I was occupying."

"What is the number of that room?"

"B-52 is the room I had." So he's a _lucky_ jerk.

"You had the suite?" Smith asked this, as if skeptically.

"I had the suite; I was sleeping in that room—" He pointed to the diagram. "…As a matter of fact." Well, where else would he be sleeping?

"Do you know whether there were any passengers on that deck?"

"I have no idea, sir."

"You say that the trip was a voluntary trip on your part?" This is ridiculous.

"Absolutely."

"…For the purpose of viewing this ship in action, or did you have some business in New York?" Wasn't this question already asked and answered?

"I had no business to bring me to New York at all. I simply came in the natural course of events, as one is apt to, in case of a new ship, to see how she works, and with the idea of seeing how we could improve on her for the next ship which we are building." He also kept count of the china. I suppose he won't tell the Senator that, though.

"Were there any other executive officers of the company aboard?"

"None." Well, doesn't that just figure. I eyed Harry and he nodded, as if he had either suspected that Ismay was the only real executive officers on board, or he knew. Definitely the latter.

"Was the inspector or builder on board?" Ismay nodded.

"There was a representative of the builders on board."

"Who was he?" Ismay looked down at the table to his folded hands, taking in a deep breath. "Mr. Ismay." He looked up from the oak table to the Senator, who seemed to be a little agitated. "You need to answer the question, Mr. Ismay."

"I apologize," he said, his voice shaking. Smith didn't notice, but merely began to pace the room again.

"Who was he, Mr. Ismay?" I held my own breath, realizing the question. Even though I had heard it, I didn't quite comprehend it…until now. Ismay looked at the Senator, as if he wasn't sure of the question himself. The Senator began to tense up, adjusting his tie. I could see Ismay gulp, before saying simply: "Mr. Thomas Andrews."


	46. Chapter Forty Five

I'm not surprised he asked about my father. I'm not. I sort of, kind of, even _expected _it. I didn't expect the way Ismay reacted to the question, though—no one did. The Senator, though, seemed quite pleased that Ismay finally answered the question—or even answered it at all. Harry gripped my hand tighter than before. I now feel as if all eyes are on me, but I know they're not. Ismay hasn't seen me yet, or I know he'd keep watching me. But, he knows I'm around. He knows that.

"In what capacity was he?" Smith questioned. Ismay furrowed his brow.

"I do not quite follow you," he admitted. It sounds like he's lying to me. Smith gritted his teeth.

"What was the occasion of his coming to make this trial trip?"

"As a representative of the builders, to see that everything was working satisfactorily and also to see how he could improve the next ship." Well, my father certainly lived up to that, he was diligent in seeing how he could improve a new ship. All of those notes of his, for nothing, for there won't ever be another ship with him as the Master Shipbuilder.

"Was he a man of large experience?" I found myself nodding, but stopped myself.

"Yes."

"Had he had part in the construction of this ship himself?" Hell, yes.

"Yes."

"Was he among the survivors?" Ismay hesitated, but shook his head.

"Unfortunately, no." Yet, here we are again, back in the twisted web Bruce Ismay has weaved. My father was asked to go aboard the Titanic, he was representing the builders of the ship, but Ismay went on there voluntarily and _lived_? It doesn't seem right. That's because it _isn't_ right—both Ismay and I know it.

"How old a man was he?"

"It is difficult to judge a man's age, as you know, but I should think he was perhaps forty-two or forty-three years of age. He may have been less. I really could not say." Well, he was less. He was thirty-nine. Ismay wasn't off by a lot. He doesn't get any credit, either way.

"Did anyone accompany you on board this ship?" Ismay shook his head.

"No. I was alone."

"What about Thomas Andrews? Did anyone accompany him on the voyage?" Ismay managed a nod, not opening his mouth to answer. Come on, spit it out, my friend. You know I was there, you know you had chased me down into that boiler room, you know I yelled at you in the Captain's area when my father was studying those blueprints, before reprimanding me. You know I was there. "Mr. Ismay?"

"His daughter." Smith stared at him, waiting for more of an answer.

"Her name…?"

"Antoinette Andrews." Smith went to one table behind him and whispered something to one of the men sitting there. One man was scribbling something down on a notepad and I swear, I saw Smith mouth the word _testify_. Oh, dear God, I hope I don't have to testify. I knew I should've stayed at the hotel. I shouldn't have answered that officer aboard the Carpathia—I should've made up a fake name and just went along with it. No one would've known the difference.

"Was she among the survivors?" Smith asked.

"That I could not say, sir." Lying _again_, my friend? Tisk-tisk, this doesn't look good. Smith took a piece of paper offered by one of the men he had just spoken with and quickly read through it. I can see his eyes shifting left to right very quickly. Neither of them has yet to spot me.

"Well, she seems to be on the list of survivors…" His skeptical voice stopped as he glanced at Ismay.

"Perhaps she survived." Ismay shrugged his shoulders. "Either way, I could not say for certain." Harry glanced at me, managing a smile.

"You're one of the wanted ones," he whispered into my ear.

"I guess so." I don't care, either way. I hope to never be found, so I won't have to testify.

"Well, then." Smith seems to now be getting away from the topic of me. Thank goodness. I sighed a breath of relief. "Then…you were the only executive officer aboard the ship representing your company, aside from the ship's customary complement of officers?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you have occasion to consult with the Captain about the movement of the ship?"

"Never." I rolled my eyes. Liar. I'm sure he talked to the Captain—he probably shouted at him for all I know.

"Did he consult you about it?"

"Never. Perhaps I am wrong in saying that. I should like to say this: I do not know that it was quite a matter of consulting him about it, of his consulting me about it, but what we had arranged to do was that we would not attempt to arrive in New York at the lightship before five 'o' clock on Wednesday morning."

"That was the understanding?" Smith questioned.

"Yes. But that was arranged before we left Queenstown."

"Was it supposed that you could reach New York at that time without putting the ship to reaching to its' full running capacity?"

"Oh, yes, sir." Could've fooled me. He seemed to always act as though we were never going quite fast enough for him. That was, of course, between him telling everyone and anyone who would listen about the broken china. On board, he spoke of wasted money, but not now. No, he couldn't tarnish his already tarnished reputation. Besides, everyone was gone now—nobody could even say otherwise. Even to him, I'm dead. "There was nothing to be gained by arriving at New York any earlier than that."

That statement hit me like a ton of bricks. That is a flat out lie! I took in a sharp breath. So, I was right: Bruce Ismay would and did lie on the stand. _We have nothing to hide_. My blood began to boil with anger. He does have something to hide! I remember distinctly the conversation I had with Ismay, well more like an argument with him, on the Carpathia, when I questioned him if he was the one who ordered the Captain to speed up the ship. And he had nodded. The jerk had nodded!

"_The ship never had been at full speed."_

How could I have _not_ heard him say that? Was I too engrossed in my own thoughts to even hear and comprehend what he was saying? I must've been! He says now that Titanic wasn't going at full speed, but that night on the Carpathia, he had told me otherwise. He's lying, just like I knew he would. And it was all for the newspapers, it was all for the papers, the press…then, he said it wasn't supposed to be like this. I suppose he got his press, just like he wanted.

"You lying son of a bitch!" I shouted. I gasped, putting my hand to my mouth. Was that _me_? I glanced around the room and everyone had turned their attention to me. People were turned in their chairs to see me, the Senator had stopped his pacing and Ismay had just broken out into a cold sweat. Alright, so I suppose that _was_ me and I said it loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Excuse me?" Smith asked, just as my voice echoed away, putting his hands on his hips. I stood up, holding onto the empty seat in front of me for balance.

"He's lying!" I shouted, gesturing to Ismay. "You are a lying, cheating scumbag—You son of a bitch!" Women in the crowd gasped, as if they had never heard cursing before in their life. I never knew I could swear like that, though! As the people in the rows of seats began to chatter, Smith knocked on the table Ismay was sitting at.

"Order!" he shouted, not breaking his glare from me. "Order!" Nobody's listening as Smith turned back to Ismay.

"Why don't you tell us the truth, Bruce?!" I shouted at him, gesturing around the room. "I'm sure everyone would like to hear you say something besides your utter bullshit!" Harry pulled on my arm to pull me back down into my seat, but I pushed his hand away. This is not the time to stop. I'm too far in.

"How dare you!" Ismay yelled at me. "Are you calling Bruce Ismay a liar?"

"I don't see anyone else with the name Bruce Ismay in this room!" He huffed, completely insulted.

"Can you imagine! A complete stranger telling me I am—"

"Isn't it true that you wanted Titanic in New York by Tuesday night—so she could make the morning papers!?" Ismay glared at me, but didn't respond. "Bruce Ismay, tell us all the truth!" Everyone turned their attention to Ismay, including the Senator.

"I have nothing to say," he said between gritted teeth, trying to sound cool and collective. "I've never seen this woman before in my life!" I huffed. Of course he knows me. I punched him, he gawked at me every change he got, he told me the truth. And I also broke his china. That's it! He won't be able to control himself with the china.

"Harry and I broke the china!" I suddenly blurted. Ismay glared at me, his jaw dropping.

"Why, you little brat!" He stood up from his chair. I knew it. I can read Ismay like a book! "You're going to have to pay for that! You and that Officer! I swear to God, you will pay for that china!"

"It's at the bottom of the North Atlantic!" Harry suddenly argued, standing up.

"I knew it was you two! How could I have not known!? You broke White Star Line property, goddamn it! I will make you pay for it if it's the last thing I do!" Smith, who I think has been enjoying the little spectacle, had been searching around the room for something and I suppose he found it. A mallet. He banged it loudly onto the table to silence everyone, and everyone did—except for Bruce Ismay. "I want them arrested!" he yelled at the top of his lungs to Smith. "Guards, guards! Arrest them! Arrest them!"

"For God's sake, I said ORDER!" Smith slammed the mallet down, harder than before onto the table and everyone shut up immediately. I think he might've caused harm to that poor table. I almost fell back into my seat. The sound pinged across the room. There was silence for what felt like an hour, before he turned to me. "Miss, I am going to ask you civilly to leave this room. This is an inquiry, not a shouting contest!"

"But—" My eyes welled up with unexpected tears as Harry took my hand.

"I don't want to have to hold you in contempt, Miss." How can he hold me on _anything_? I'm merely stating the facts. He stopped, taking in a deep breath himself, winded from all of the yelling he obviously is not accustomed to. "You're disturbing the peace." I. Am. Not. Oh, when did I turn into such a nutcase?

"Ann, come on," Harry said, squeezing my hand before gesturing to the doors behind us. "We'll go get some air."

"Harry, but—" He forced a smile.

"No jail for you, Love. Not today, anyway. Come on." He handed me my crutches and he helped me out of the row. I couldn't keep my eyes on where I was going or even Harry, I kept my eyes on Ismay. I placed my crutches under my arms and began to walk, Harry beside me. "Careful, careful," he said softly, holding me steady as we made our way down the aisle to the door.

"Guards!" Smith shouted, practically making me jump. "Please, open the doors!"

"But, sir…" an officer shook his head at him.

"Just open the damn door, Henry!" he exclaimed angrily. The guards sighed, but unlocked the doors for us and we stepped out into the hallway. The doors stayed open as the guards seemed to watch with interest my struggle with the crutches. Fantastic, my ankle's throbbing now. I must've put pressure on it. "Alright, shut the damn door!" Goodness, he's mighty cranky, isn't he? I heard behind me the doors begin to slowly but surely shut. The last thing I heard was the same questioner, interrogator even, say, "I'd like to know the truth, Mr. Ismay!" I smiled at that and quickly glancing over my shoulder, I can see Ismay staring at me—like a child who had just been caught stealing from the cookie jar, just as the door shut behind us.


	47. Chapter Forty Six

"Are you out of your mind!?" he exclaimed to me.

"Harry, he was lying!"

"How do you know that, Ann?" I sighed, brushing hair out of my eyes. The tears that had come so unexpectedly began to form, even more so than before—enough to make everything around me seem fuzzy. I don't want to be interrogated by my fiancée, future husband. I can't even look him in the eye. "Oh, Antoinette." He gently pulled me towards the other side of the hallway and sat me down into one of two empty chairs. He took the crutches and leaned them against the other chair. I began to cry, weep even, into my hands as he kneeled down to my level. "I'm sorry, I—" He hugged me and I instinctively wrapped my arms around him. "Oh, Antoinette." He pulled me in closer to him as dozens of tears began to fall down my cheeks and onto his officer's uniform.

"Oh, your uniform," I whispered into his ear, trying to brush the tears away from the wool. He looked at me, shaking his head.

"It's alright." I held onto him tighter than before, my eyes welling up with more tears. "Ann, Ann." He stroked my hair. "Ann." He kissed my cheek as I held on tighter. I can't believe I'm crying over this. I'm crying like a maniac over this. I yelled at Bruce Ismay—but, it's not even that. I don't care I yelled at him, he deserved it. It's my father. I know he wouldn't want me crying, but the sadness Ismay had conveyed when discussing my father made me miss him all that much more. In reality, there's nothing anyone can say, nothing anyone can do, to make him come back to me. And I thought I couldn't cry any more about him being gone. What I lost is too much. I lost him. All of those people in that room lost someone and there I was, yelling at someone I consider responsible. I know, in reality, it's not his fault, but someone must be blamed. I'm not strong. I'm not. I'm weak, and perhaps, that's why I feel as though someone has to be held responsible. Then again, perhaps it was just an accident, a very twisted accident. And sure, I suppose looking on the bright side—I met someone on account of Titanic, the true love of my life, but I lost _so much_.

"I shouldn't have forced you." I glanced at Harry, halfway releasing the hug, realizing the look of remorse he has on his face.

"What?"

"You didn't want to come. I wanted you to, I'm sorry…"

"This isn't anyone's fault." I swallowed back my tears. "I didn't expect to blow up like that."

"I know your father—"

"He's gone," I said softly, "I know he is."

"He was your father, Antoinette. You loved him. Nothing can take his place." I stared at him. I can't believe he said that, because it is so true. Nothing _can_ take my father's place. I sighed heavily.

"I don't know." I rubbed my forehead as he took my hands, leaning in even more so to me. "I didn't expect myself to be an emotional basket case." I forced a smile at him as he pulled out a handkerchief and gently wiped my eyes. "I should be able to handle this, I mean, by God—"

"You don't have to prove anything," he whispered to me. "Not to anyone. You don't even _have_ to be able to handle it." He took in a sharp breath. "It's not something anyone truly gets over." He brushed a wisp of hair out of my face. "…Of course, I want you to be happy, Antoinette. I really do."

"I know," I said softly.

" Whatever it takes to make you happy, there's nothing I wouldn't do for you. I love you."

"I love you, too," I managed to say. He put his forehead to mine.

"And I'm right here." I looked him straight in the eye.

"For always?" He nodded.

"For always." I sighed as he gently kissed my nose. He always seems to catch me in my most vulnerable moments, he really does. And yet, I don't care. I really don't. Why should I care? Then again…I tend to ask too many questions, too many _stupid_ questions, questions that need to be answered. I glanced at Harry, who still had a smile on his face. Perhaps I need that reassurance, the reassurance that someone in this world won't leave me all alone—because God knows I'm not going back to England. And I know Harry won't leave me alone, no matter what. 'Til death do us part. Marriage, oh, marriage…

"You shouldn't marry me," I decided softly, shaking my head.

"Why not?" he asked curiously.

"I'm insane." He smiled.

"No, you're not." He paused. "If you're insane, I'm insane. And the best the insane can do is stick together…which means marriage for us." I smiled unexpectedly at that and he seems somewhat relieved that he got me to smile. "And let's not forget about your ankle. How much does that hurt? A lot?" I managed a slight nod at him, even if he's changing the subject. "Once I testify, we'll go back to the hotel and you can rest, I promise." He stopped, before smiling. "And besides, now that our little secret is out about the china, Bruce Ismay will be after my paycheck. The quicker we can get out of here, the better." He forced a slight laugh.

"He yelled at me," I sniffled.

"Are you crying because he yelled at you?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I hope not." That would make me truly crazy. He kissed me on the cheek.

"Now, he's _definitely_ not worth crying over. That's like crying over spilt milk." I'm never this emotional. What has gotten into me? "Must be those pain pills," he said, with a smile. "They mess with your mind." He wiped a few more oncoming tears away. "Come now…This isn't worth crying over. Your father wouldn't want you crying about this." I know he wouldn't.

"I can't." I hiccuped. "Help it."

"He loved you too much to see you upset. And now, you've got the hiccups," he said, with a little laugh. That's when the doors behind us opened and we both looked up from each other to see Lightoller walking towards us.

"Everything alright?" he asked, in barely above a whisper as he shut the doors behind him. He walked towards us and found a seat for himself to my right.

"Everything's fine," Harry reassured him. He glanced at me. "Isn't it, Love?" he asked, sounding unsure. I nodded as he handed me his handkerchief.

"Everything's fine." Lightoller seemed to sigh a enormous breath of relief as he leaned back into his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Well…Let me just say I love your wife, Harry."

"_Future_ wife," I corrected.

"Why's that?" Harry asked him, with a large smile as I hiccuped again.

"Never in all my years have I seen someone put Bruce Ismay in his place like that!" He took off his officer's hat and acted as though he was going to throw it down the hall and out of sight. "He's made me want to quit and become a blacksmith." I smiled at that. He was serious.

"I think I cost Harry his job," I said to Lightoller, hiccuping again into his handkerchief.

"Oh, Ann, I doubt it!" Harry grinned at me.

"I doubt men will be lining up to sign up with White Star Line after all of this is put to rest," Lightoller pointed out. I nodded.

"True." The door opened yet again and one of the guards gestured to Harry and Lightoller.

"Whichever one of you is Fifth Officer Harold Lowe, we're ready for you." Oh, that must be Henry, the poor thing that keeps getting yelled at. He looks aggravated and tired. Ismay must be done getting abused—it's Harry's turn now.

"Well," he said to me, hesitating, "I guess it's my turn." He isn't moving, though.

"Go," I urged. "That way, we'll get out of here." He nodded and slowly but surely stood up on his feet, squeezing my hands before letting go of them.

"Charlie, keep an eye on her, would you?" he asked Lightoller. I'm not going to even comment to that. I realize he wants to make sure I'm okay, and isn't treating me like a child. Had my father said that, I would've rolled my eyes and told him everything was okay. I can't be sure of what's okay now.

"Of course."

"And don't you dare run off with her and get married—!" Lightoller smiled at me.

"That ruins my plans."

"Before _I _die, Officer!" Smith's voice rang through the hallway and I realize he's still standing in the same spot where we had left him, in the front of the room. "Before I hold you in contempt!" He'll threaten, but that's it.

"Alright, then." Harry kissed me on the head. "Wish me luck."

"Don't lie," Lightoller said simply.

"Oh, thanks for the tip!" Harry replied sarcastically before stepping into the chamber of death. The moment the doors shut behind him, Lightoller managed a laugh.

"Am I getting invited to the wedding?"

"What?" I asked, confused.

"The wedding, am I invited?" I laughed, rubbing my forehead.

"Sure, if you want to come…" I hiccuped. "Harry might be worried you'll try to kidnap me, though, so you have to be on your best behavior." He put his hand to his heart.

"I will, I promise."

"I'm taking you up on that promise!" I laughed. He smiled, clearing his throat. As we quieted down, I could hear the Senator talking, loudly, even though the doors to that room are completely shut.

"Do you want anything?" he asked me suddenly. "Coffee, tea…? I need something to wake me up and I'm going to see if I can sneak a free cup—" I put my finger to my mouth, shushing him.

"Listen." I gestured to the doors. "You can hear them." He stopped momentarily before nodding at me. He teetered in his chair, folding his hands, listening intently. I sat closer to the edge of my seat, tilting my ear to the doors.

"Would you please state your name for the record?" Smith asked Harry.

"Harold Godfrey Lowe."

"Your occupation?"

"Officer of the White Star Line."

"In what capacity?"

"Well, I was the Fifth Officer on Titanic."

"And merely for classification, Officer Lowe, what was the iceberg made of?" Is he _kidding_? I glanced at Lightoller, who had the same look on his face that I must have on mine: a look of _what_?

"Excuse me?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"What was the iceberg made of?" Smith repeated.

"Well, the iceberg…" Harry's voice trailed off. "Although I never saw it, I assume it was made of…_ice_." He had said it with such seriousness, I held back my impending giggles. Why would someone ask what an iceberg was made of? Lightoller glanced at me and before I knew it, we were both laughing hysterically.


	48. Chapter Forty Seven

"What are we waiting for?" I glanced from the metal elevator gates to Harry, raising an eyebrow. What? What are we waiting for? I was waiting for him, first and foremost—and now that he's done being interrogated, we're going back to the hotel, so I can rest and take the pressure off of my ankle. Although I have to admit, I was enjoying Lightoller's stories about Harry, and every little embarrassing thing that happened to him. He just _had_ to pull me away from that.

"Uh, the elevator?" I told him.

"No, no," he said, shaking his head. He then smiled. "What are we waiting for to get married?"

"Well…" my voice trailed off when I realized nothing really is holding us back from getting married. "Nothing." He smiled.

"Exactly!"

"Harry, what are you even talking about—" The elevator came up from the bottom floors and the operator opened up the black metal gate as Harry helped me inside. The operator locked the gate, shaking it slightly to make sure it was shut, before turning to us.

"Up or down, folks?" he asked, with a sweet smile.

"To the lobby," Harry said simply. He nodded and pressed a few buttons and we slowly but surely began to make our way down to the first floor of the hotel and the sooner, the better. I wonder if I gave him a tip, could he make the elevator go faster? As it is, I hate these kinds of elevators, the ones that you can see outside of, as you're travelling up and down. They're just like the elevators on Titanic and they kind of scare me. The fear of the unknown. "What I'm saying is this." Harry cleared his throat and I glanced up at him. "We have nothing holding us back from getting married, why not just take the plunge?" I looked over momentarily at the elevator operator, whose acting as if he isn't listening, but I know he is.

"Must we discuss this now?" I hissed between clenched teeth.

"When should we discuss it?" I have no idea. He took my hands. "Antoinette, this is the United States. People get married all the time!"

"Harry, it's not that…"

"Then, what is it?" I brushed hair from my eyes.

"I just think it's a little early, don't you?"

"Molly had a point, engagements should be short—"

"It hasn't even been twenty-four hours!" I exclaimed.

"So, what?" he asked, a smile still on his face. I stared at him, unsure.

"You're _serious_, aren't you?" He nodded.

"Unless you'd like to inform your family of our impending nuptials," he said, somewhat sarcastically. I rolled my eyes.

"Thanks, but no thanks."

"Besides, I thought we wanted the wedding to be small." I nodded, remembering our conversation from last night. That's something we both agreed on. No planning, no worrying—"With as few people as possible." I grinned at him for adding that in as he winked at me. "It's not like I have to inform _my_ family."

"True."

"That would take time," he said, his voice trailing off.

"If I may make a suggestion…" The operator. We both turned to face him and he turned beet-red. "If you're looking to get married quickly, City Hall has judges of the court who are willing to marry anyone with a proper license."

"A license?" I questioned, confused. I had no idea you needed a license to get married. Who thought of that rule? I shot a look at Harry, who shrugged a shoulder. I suppose this license procedure is new. The operator nodded.

"…Which a town clerk can get you."

"At City Hall?" Harry asked. He nodded.

"For a small fee, of course, but a justice of the peace is always around to marry you. The courts, you know, are so backed up and—" The elevator stopped and he quickly unlocked the gates for us.

"Well, thank you," I said sincerely, stepping out of the elevator. Thank you for giving him ideas, you jerk.

"No problem, Miss." Harry stepped out of the elevator after saying something inaudible to him and shook his hand. "Any time, any time!" the operator exclaimed. With that, he shut the gate and went up, probably back to where we were.

"Harry, we are not doing that today," I told him sternly as we began to make our way towards the exit.

"Why not?"

"Well, besides the fact that I can't stand up? I want our marriage to be something special, precisely when I'm not in pain." I paused, biting down on my lower lip. Think, Antoinette, think! I need to get his mind off of this idea. "And besides, I promised Charles he could come."

"Well, he can come to the after-party." That didn't even faze him, did it? We took a step outside into the somewhat brisk air. No, it did not faze him. "Getting cold feet already?" he questioned, stepping towards the curb.

"I can't feel one of my feet, so sure, I suppose, one foot _is_ cold!" He smiled at that.

"God, I love you." I smiled at him, even though I didn't necessarily mean to. He knows just what to say and when to say it. The charmer. He began to whistle for a taxi. And as we stood there, in the cold, him trying to flag down cars, he glanced over his shoulder at me, that mischievous smile of his plastered across his face. "It could be fun," he tried to say, enticing me. He shrugged a shoulder before whistling loudly at one taxi driver on the curb across the street, who looked like he was on his lunch break. "You!" he shouted, pointing to him. He's not going to threaten to _sink_ him, is he? Any reporters around? I glanced around the busy streets of New York City, and nothing. I sighed a breath of relief. "Want to do your job!?" he shouted.

"Harry, don't be rude!" He looked over his shoulder at me, yet again unfazed, just as the taxi pulled up at the curb in front of him, practically splashing him with mud from that rainstorm we had encountered.

"Come along, Miss Andrews," he laughed, leading me towards the car and opening the door for me. I hopped in as he held onto my crutches, before he got in himself. He slammed the door and the taxi driver looked at him through the rearview mirror, which needs to be badly polished.

"Where to?" Harry glanced at me, as if he wanted me to agree to his insane idea of getting married today. I can only shake my head at him. No. I don't want to get married now. It's too soon. Not after my yelling at Ismay, I need my mental health evaluated, I can't get married now. He looked at me, his demeanor changing.

"Are you sure?" he asked softly.

"My ankle is killing me," I told him.

"Alright, alright." He took in a deep breath. "The Plaza, then."

"Okay, the Plaza it is." The taxi pulled the car off from the curb and we began down the busy street. I buckled myself in and didn't look Harry in the eye. He's probably disappointed, but…Get married _today_?

In reality, I know he's right. There's nothing holding us back from doing what we want. I glanced down at my ring and its' just sparkling at me, as if its' telling me to just go ahead and to quote my future husband, take the plunge. But, my father. Would he want me to wait? I looked out the window momentarily. Or would he want me to seize the day, and take this opportunity while it was still in my possession? You only have one life to live, Antoinette Andrews. Harry said that himself. And you know you're never going to find someone like Harold Lowe again, and if my father's the only real reason I'm holding myself back, I know he'll be there. He always seems to be around.

The better question is: why not? It's a good way to start over, isn't it? Start a new life, well, start a new life _somewhat_, with someone I truly love? Who cares how long we've known each other? We love each other and that's what matters. I glanced down at my bandaged ankle that, even though it's throbbing, it's as if I'm immune to the pain now. I think it's adrenaline I'm running on now. That or insanity. Oh, Hell, let's get married!

"Alright," I said softly, nodding at him.

"Alright, what?" he asked, confused.

"You want us to get married?" I questioned.

"Well, I wouldn't have bought the ring had I not wanted to marry you—"

"No, no. Do you want to get married _today_?"

"I _did_. But, you, your ankle and—" I put a finger to his lips to stop him.

"Screw my ankle." I cleared my throat. "Driver, City Hall."

"But, Miss, that's in the complete opposite direction…"

"I don't care," I said simply, with a shrug. Harry sat up straighter, smiling widely at me.

"Are you sure, Ann?" he asked seriously. I nodded at him.

"You have one life to live, remember?" I asked, with a smile, leaning in towards him. He wrapped an arm around me, laughing at that. "Seize the day?"

"Antoinette, you have just made me the happiest man on this Earth. Driver." He tapped the taxi driver's shoulder.

"What?" he asked, somewhat irritated.

"City Hall," Harry repeated. "Turn around."

"It'll cost you a fortune," he warned.

"We'll pay you double the meter if you get us there in five minutes," I offered, holding up my purse, jingling it as the change began to bounce back and forth in it.

"Alright, then!" he whistled, suddenly turning a sharp left, screeching the taxi's wheels as he spun around in the opposite direction. I held onto Harry for dear life. And even though we may all die if this taxi tips over, my mind went immediately to something to do, of course, with the impending nuptials. We need rings. How can we forget such an important, yet simple, detail?

"Oh, Harry, how can we get married without rings?" He glanced down at me, and I could see his mind tinkering.

"Well, we _can't_," he mused aloud. I nodded.

"Exactly."

"And we need a jewelry store, too!" he exclaimed excitedly. What a nervous groom-to-be, wouldn't you say? The driver didn't hesitate. The thought of money is invading his thoughts, I think. And I don't have a nickel on me.

"Yes, sir!" When he turned around completely, Harry took my left hand and intertwined his fingers with mine.

"You sure?" he asked, skeptic. I nodded, squeezing his hand.

"I've never been so sure in my life."


	49. Chapter Forty Eight

I took in a deep breath, focusing my eyes over Harry's shoulder at the window outside. I can see cars and people passing by somewhat below us as Harry suddenly squeezed my hands.

"Love?" I looked from the window to him, managing a smile. The paperwork and the marriage license had all been signed minutes ago and here we are, standing in front of a judge's desk, waiting for him to come. I guess you could call this room his office or as some may call it, the judge's chambers. Either way, it isn't the actual courtroom. That would've been a little _too_ nerve-wracking. As if my heart isn't in my throat already! I glanced at Nancy, sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, an enormous smile on her face. I suppose we could call her the city clerk. She hates formalities, so she's a woman after my own heart. She's the one who sold us our marriage license, so I guess we can call her the city clerk. Or she's merely an employee of the city hall. I don't really know right now.

Either way, she seems pretty excited to be witnessing a wedding, even if she's my mother's age. She said someone had to witness the ceremony besides the justice of the peace, or something along those lines. I wasn't really listening when she explained it. Either way, she seems nice enough, so I could care less. Two other people in the room is certainly not as many people as there would've been had my mother been involved. Then again, if she had been involved…Oh, let's not even think about that.

Anyhow, during the whole time Harry was signing his life away, Nancy…Nancy was telling me how lovely of a bride I'd be. I couldn't help but thank her—I'm not used to having complete strangers compliment me. Either way, I was completely flattered, because Nancy is beautiful herself.

"You okay?" Harry asked me, concerned.

"Fine." I paused, looking around the room quickly. "When's that judge supposed to get here?"

"He must've lost his robes," Nancy laughed, brushing blonde hair from her eyes.

"Does he lose them often?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Every other day!"

"Why do I have a feeling he's half-blind?" he hissed to me. I laughed at that.

"Who cares if he is," I said, shrugging a shoulder. "He knows how to marry people."

"And that's what counts?" I nodded.

"Exactly. That's what counts." I gestured to my ring. "Do you have the rings?" He smiled, nodding.

"Ann, I have everything. Take a deep breath." As if he's as cool as a cucumber! He looks like he's practically shaking. He should be taking his own advice—take a deep breath. I must've taken a deep breath, because he gently patted one of my cheeks. "Okay, let it out!" I sighed heavily. "You have to breathe in and _out_, Love."

"I'll learn that eventually."

"Waiting for me?" We all focused our eyes on the doorway of the office and standing there in a long, official-looking black cloak is an older man, his hair fully white, papers in his hand and glasses balancing on his head. He smiled at Nancy, Harry and then me. "And you must be the bride and groom-to-be!" He gestured to either of us and we both managed a nod.

"That's us," I said, with a slight laugh. Alright, so Harry was right—he does look half-blind as he shook Harry's hand. He practically missed taking my fiancé's offered hand.

"How do you do, Officer…" He gestured to Harry's uniform.

"Harold Lowe, sir. Pleasure."

"No need for formalities! This is a grand day, why bother with them?" I smiled at that. "The Honorary Basil Lexington at your service," he said, tilting his head slightly. That's what the name on the desk says, so I believe him. "And you, my dear." He took my hand, squeezing it. "The bride-to-be." I nodded.

"Antoinette." He smiled, dropping my hand, before clearing his throat. "Nancy?" She stood up from her seat. "Marriage license?"

"Oh, yes, of course." She took a folded piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to him. He unfolded it and quickly scanned it, before nodding in approval. I doubt he can even _see _it.

"Well, everything seems to be in order," he murmured. "Nancy, you never fail me!" She shrugged a shoulder, trying not to turn crimson before taking up her seat once more, crossing one leg over the other. Lexington folded the paper back up and handed it to Harry. "Hold onto it for dear life," he instructed.

"Will do." He stuffed the paper into his pocket.

"It's one thing that can prove you actually got married," Lexington told him, "_after_ the ceremony, of course." He chuckled at his own joke, before taking the sheets in his hand and shuffling them. "Shall we begin?" We both nodded and Harry took my hands. I find myself shaking and I swallowed. Take a deep breath, Antoinette. This is Harry. You love him. "Oh, wait, rings."

"_Rings_?" Nancy asked, confused.

"I've got them," Harry reassured all of us, taking out a small ring box in his overcoat pocket. He opened the velvet box and faced it towards the judge. "Will they do?"

"As long as they fit, they're perfect." And they do. Harry had practically dragged me through that jewelry store to make sure the bands fit properly. As he placed the box on top of the judge's desk, the judge himself, sighed, frustrated—patting himself down suddenly, as if he's looking for something.

"Problem, Judge?" Nancy asked, her smile not seeming to fade.

"My glasses, where the heck did I put—" I cleared my throat, gesturing to my head. He got the idea and laughed at himself. "Oh, here they are! Thank you, my dear." Well, he needs his glasses so we can get this ceremony done and over with, right? He placed his spectacles on the brim of his nose. "Now, shall we begin?" My heart began to unexpectedly pound, but as I saw Harry nod, I shook my head.

"Restroom?" I asked suddenly, breathless, trying to stop the proceedings for merely a minute. Good excuse, Antoinette, great excuse—Oh, that excuse was awful.

"See that door?" Lexington asked me as I glanced over my shoulder. "Right through there." I managed a nod and dropped Harry's hands.

"Ann—" He stopped himself as I quickly made my way out of the room.

"Is she alright?" Nancy asked both of them.

"Cold feet already!" Lexington decided. "She'll be alright, just give her a minute or so to pull herself together—how about you, dear boy? You're shaking yourself…" His voice trailed off as I took a step into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. I went for the mirror, of all things, my footsteps echoing around the room. I placed my crutches against the wall to my right. I need something to lean against and that porcelain sink in front of this said mirror is good enough. Why am I suddenly so clammy? I felt my cheek with the back of my hand, and I'm practically shaking in my skin. Come on, Antoinette! This is no big deal, dilemma or trauma. You're merely finalizing something you knew was going to happen from the first day you met Harold Lowe. Great, now I'm coaching_ and _talking to myself at the same time.

I ran the water and splashed my face, if nothing else, to calm myself down. As I went for a towel to dry my face, I looked back up at the mirror and I saw my father. I practically screamed, almost falling back onto the floor—but scurried for a towel as I dried my eyes. I got myself closer to the mirror, looking over my right shoulder in the glass. I swear to God, I saw him. I looked over my shoulder at the empty wall to find myself looking at nothing more than the wall. Nothing more. Just the wall. But, I swear…I turned back to the mirror, staring into it. What am I doing? Have I completely lost my mind? I know I question my sanity every other day, every other hour, but I think I have _now_ lost my mind. I saw him. I saw someone who should be dead. I touched the glass of the mirror delicately. Maybe it's corrupted, broken, cheap…Or am I merely beginning to see things? Am I hallucinating? What if that really was him? He seemed to look happy, of all things. He was smiling. Oh…what if he is here?

"Dad." I spoke it so softly, the words didn't even seem to echo across the room. "Are you here?" Why am I asking questions to an empty room? "God, am I making a mistake?" Why did I just ask that? I slapped my forehead with my palm. That was stupid. I know I'm not making a mistake. My mother and everyone else in her crotchet circle may think I'm throwing my life away, but I'm not. I gripped the sink tighter than before. I'm not throwing my life away—I'm just starting to finally _live_ life.

I wiped my face again with the soft towel, blotting away a dab of smudged make-up near my left eye. And I look awful, did I mention how awful I look? I never thought I'd look this bad when I got married. Oh, I'm being vain and I sound like my mother. I fixed the necklace across my neck, making it as straight as possible. I know Harry doesn't care how I look, but I, at least, want to look presentable.

Anyhow, this all may just be wedding jitters. Maybe that judge is right, maybe I _am_ getting cold feet…No, no. Let's get married. I'm going to let myself get married to the most wonderful man alive and _not_ regret it. A knock on the door made me jump and I almost fell to the floor—again.

"Love, you okay?" Harry. I forced a nod, merely for myself.

"I'm fine," I reassured him.

"You sure?"

"Positive."

"Well, whenever you're ready…"

"Hold on—" I wiped my face once more. Well…I took in a deep breath. It's now or never. I took my crutches and after one final glimpse in the mirror to not see my father there, I opened up the bathroom door and walked out—to find Harry leaning against the doorway that led back into the judge's chambers. "Hi, stranger."

"Hi," he grinned, but I could hear his voice shaking. He's nervous, too. At least I know it's not just me. "You ready?" I glanced over my shoulder at the closed bathroom door. If that was my father, was that his way of saying, go for it, sweetheart? Or was it a sign to run for the hills? At this point, I have no idea.

"Yeah." I'm taking it as a sign to go for it, sweetheart.

"Okay. Let's go, then." He wrapped an arm around me and we began to make our way back into the office. Both Lexington and Nancy seemed to sigh a unanimous breath of relief when they saw us come back together.

"All set?" Lexington asked, with a smile. I nodded. I'm as set as I'm going to be. Harry led me back in front of the desk, where we had been before I had decided to practically jump out the window and get out of here, in front of our _guests_. "Shall we begin again?" I nodded.

"Yes." I sound so sure of myself, I shock myself sometimes. Harry slipped his hands into mine and squeezed them. Lexington flipped through the pages once more, before smiling to himself when reaching, what I think, is the proper page.

"Friends…" He glanced over at Nancy, who's still smiling, "…And Nancy." I giggled at that. "We have been invited here today to share with Officer Harold Lowe and…" He looked up from the page to me. "Didn't quite catch your name, dear," he admitted, looking slightly embarrassed.

"Antoinette Andrews."

"Antoinette Andrews," he restated, "a very important moment in their lives. In the years they have been together…" I looked up at Harry. More like days! I saw him holding back his laughter. "…Their love and understanding for one another has grown and matured, and now they have decided to live their lives together as husband and wife." He paused, clearing his throat. "If any person can show just cause why they may not be joined together, let them speak now or forever hold their peace." Our eyes all seemed to glide to Nancy, who shook her head.

"I have no objections," she laughed. Well, my mother would—but my father wouldn't. At least we don't have to worry about someone shouting in disapproval. If anyone's yelling, I can't hear them. Harry kept his eyes locked on me and my stare locked onto him. I can't believe this. I can't believe this is actually happening. To me.

"Merely procedural," Lexington told us, with a slight shrug. "Now, please hold hands." Well, Harry gripped my hands tighter than before, and I don't think he plans on letting go. "Do you, Harold Lowe, take this woman, to be your lawful wedded wife, to love, honor and cherish her through sickness and in health, through times of happiness and travail, until death do you part?"

"I do." He said it so simply and grinned down at me, as if the big question of the decade had just been answered.

"And do you, Antoinette Andrews, take this man to be your lawful wedded husband, to love, honor and cherish him through sickness and in health, through times of happiness and travail, until death do you part?"

"I do."

"Officer, please repeat after me," Lexington instructed. "I, Harold…"

"I, Harold."

"Take you, Antoinette."

"Take you, Antoinette." He smiled when he said my name.

"To be my lawful wedded wife."

"To be my lawful wedded wife."

"To have and to hold."

"To have and to hold."

"From this day forward."

"From this day forward."

"For richer, for poorer…"

"For richer, for poorer."

"In sickness and in health."

"In sickness and in health."

"To love and to cherish."

"To love and to cherish." I smiled at him when he said that. He already loves and cherishes, me, that's the God's honest truth.

"From this day forward, until death do us part."

"From this day forward, until death do us part." He sighed somewhat of another breath of relief. Now, this should be easy for me, to repeat what the judge says. If Harry can do it, than anyone can…of course, that's in theory.

"Now, Antoinette, please repeat after me." I nodded at him, keeping my eyes locked on Harry. "I, Antoinette."

"I, Antoinette."

"Take you, Harold."

"Take you, Harold."

"To be my lawful wedded husband."

"To be my lawful wedded husband," I smiled. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

"To have and to hold."

"To have and to hold."

"From this day forward."

"From this day forward," I repeated. Lexington wiped his brow quickly before clearing his throat.

"For richer, for poorer…"

"For richer, for poorer."

"In sickness and in health."

"In sickness and in health."

"To love and to cherish."

"To love and to cherish." I swallowed hard, my eyes welling up with tears. Oh, Antoinette, calm yourself! This is your wedding, don't cry.

"From this day forward, until death do us part."

"From this day forward, until death do us part."

"Now, the rings," Lexington said, with a smile. Harry picked up the box from the table and opened it. He gestured to Harry. "First, you Harold. Place the ring on her finger." He hesitated and the judge chuckled. "Come now, my boy, don't be shy!" He took my left hand and although he's shaking, he slipped the band onto my finger before staring me straight in the eye, his goofy smile more apparent than ever. "Please repeat after me. With this ring, I thee wed."

"With this ring," he said, "I thee wed."

"And now, Antoinette," Lexington instructed. Harry handed me his ring and I held it tightly between my fingers. "Place the ring on his finger and please repeat after me." I took his hand, myself shaking just as bad as him, if not worse and placed the gold band on his finger, fixing it to make sure it fit. It fits just fine. "With this ring, I thee wed."

"With this ring, I thee wed." I glanced at Lexington, breaking my glare with Harry momentarily.

"By the power invested in me by the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife." He smiled. "You may now kiss the bride." Harry laughed and pulling me in close to him, he wrapped his arms around me. And what did we do? We did as we were told—we kissed.


	50. Epilogue

"_Dearest Mother - June 15__th__, 1913_

_I know our correspondence has been short for over a year now. Since Daddy died and his funeral in Europe…I know our relationship has __lacked__ even more so than it usually does. I really wish, though, that would you take the plunge and come visit us in New York. Harry really would like to meet you…"_

I groaned at how that read. This letter sounds awful! And the dearest mother bit? I've never called my mother _dearest_ before, so why would I start a letter like that? I sound like I've been drinking. I sighed, staring at the letter in my hand. Dearest Mother. That aside, I thought it appropriate to write her. I know I did immediately after the wedding, against my better judgement. But, I think it's now become a habit of her's to forget I ever existed and merely tell everyone I died on the RMS Titanic. And in some way, she's right. I suppose a little part of me _did_ die on that ship, but in another way—a part of me didn't.

I ran a hand through my hair. Either way, thinking back, she wasn't too thrilled that I married what she called _a poor man's excuse for a sailor_, and I quote, but I think she's gotten over it. She has to. I'm not going to divorce the love of my life. She gave up trying to convince me of anything once I told her my father really liked Harry. That must've said something in her mind, because she hasn't called him anything inappropriate, except for his name and "that husband of yours" for a little over a year now.

And sure, staring at the letter now, I realize I'm lying. I really don't want to see her. But, I'm surprisingly _not_ lying about Harry wanting to meet my mother. We've been writing each other for a few months now, at his request, as strange as that may sound and he laughs out loud when I read the letters aloud to him. It's become almost a favorite pastime of ours. And even when I didn't want to write her, he convinced me to. When I asked him why he wasn't writing the damn letters himself, he left for work. Men.

Anyhow, there was a slight miscommunication when we moved into our house, a beautiful country farmhouse outside of New York City, about three or four months after we got married. The letters got lost, but they managed to find their way to me. Like they always do. My mother managed to hunt me down. I ran a hand through my hair, staring at the letter. I don't even want to read the whole letter through now. I hate the way I started it, but I am sure as Hell _not_ going to rewrite it. Oh, well. If she doesn't like, that's just too bad.

"…_I know how much you hate to travel, Mother, and I know you don't particularly like Harry, but he is my husband and we love each other. I'm sure you would love him once you got the chance to know him. He is the sweetest man I have ever known. Daddy really liked Harry, but I know you know that._

_Anyhow, Thomas is wonderful! I never thought I could love someone as much as I love him. He is the happiest little human being I have ever seen in my entire life and when he smiles, his eyes twinkle. . I need to get his photograph taken so you can see what he looks like. He really has Dad's eyes—"_

Try finishing a sentence with a new baby. Well, he's not really all that _new_. He's almost four months old now, but he's still _my_ baby. He's crying. From the other room, he's practically wailing. And yes, I can't even _believe_ I have a baby now. It seems too unreal. Harry and I are now responsible for another life. Maybe my mother should take him. The thought that Harry and I have a baby, the fact that we can be so irresponsible sometimes makes my stomach churn.

I placed the letter down and standing up, went for the nursery. Where's Harry when I need him? I went down the hallway and took a left into the last room. He's still crying, but as soon as I leaned over his crib, he amazingly just stopped crying. He never has done _that _before. I picked him up and kissing his head, I smiled at him. Maybe he just wanted to be held. Can't say I blame him.

"Hi, baby," I said softly. He stared at me, a monotone expression as I wiped his eyes and nose with my handkerchief. He hiccuped and I began to laugh. He giggled himself. He sounds so much like Harry when he laughs, those two have the exact same smile…but his eyes. My father's eyes. He really has them. They gleam. And it's no question why Harry and I had named him after my father. We had agreed on it unanimously as soon as we had laid eyes on him. Oh, and my father. He would love to see his grandson. More than not, I'm sure he would love to see how happy I am now.

I opened up his bureau drawer and pulled out my father's notebook before sitting down in the rocking chair Harry had bought me when I was maybe two months along. White wicker, with hand-painted flowers, its' nice and big. Just as rocking chairs should be. I flipped to maybe ten pages from the beginning and rocking him, I held the book up so I could see it.

"Now, Thomas," I said, "this was your grandfather's. You're named after him." I sighed happily as he smiled up at me. "And sure, you can't understand me. But, you will. _Eventually_." I laughed at the desperation in my voice. When I first found out of our new family member, I had, by then, read my father's notebook entirely through and then again. Once Thomas was born, I decided that his notebook was better reading material than any lullaby. Lullabies, Harry decided, was his territory, anyway. But, I decided that since he was named after my father, he might as well know what a true, kindhearted person my father really was. "Alright, let's see. February twenty-first seems to be short but sweet." I pointed at the page and Thomas looked completely intrigued as he reached for the leather cover. "How about this?" He smiled, but more than not, he smiled at the book and the prospect of chewing on it. "Alright, I'll take that as a yes!" I straightened the page as I balanced him on my left arm. All bullets, of course. But, notes just the same. "Met the Captain the White Star Line hired this morning," I read aloud. "Seems to be quite a nice man, very qualified, perhaps _overqualified…" _I laughed out loud, merely because he had underlined overqualified a few times to merely emphasize his point. "But, he was the Captain of the Olympic, so I have complete faith in him." I went to the next bullet. "…Met the Chief Officer. Murdoch, William. Seemed like a nice man. Also overqualified." I smiled.

He thought everyone was overqualified, even woman-less Will. God rest his soul. But, he _wasn't_ Chief Officer. Henry Wilde was. Did my father write this down incorrectly? It seems impossible—if he wrote something down, he wrote it down correctly. He was never a man of too many mistakes. I'll have to ask Harry when he comes home…

"Love?" Harry's voice pulled me out of the book as I turned around slightly in the rocking chair to see him in the doorway of the nursery. I smiled. Perfect timing.

"Was Will Chief Officer?" I asked him.

"What?"

"Was Will the Chief Officer on Titanic?" Harry shook his head, taking off his coat and gently placing it over the changing table.

"No, Wilde was. Then again, the order was…" He stopped and raised an eyebrow at me. "Wait, why?" He then smiled. "Oh, you're reading the notebook again, aren't you?"

"You might say that." He smiled even wider than before. "You know, it calms him!"

"Your voice calms him. It doesn't matter what you say." He kissed me on the head and then on the lips as I shut the book. He gave Thomas a quick kiss on the forehead and him, being completely awake, went to grab Harry's nose. "Hey, you," he laughed, taking Thomas's little hand with his index finger.

"You're not working?" I asked, raising an eyebrow as I held out the book for him to take.

"Can't you be happy to see me without questioning?" he joked, glancing away from the baby to me. I shook my head.

"No, I guess not. I nag."

"You don't _nag_," he reassured me, "you ask."

"Oh, that's comforting."

"I got the afternoon off. Nice day, the big cheese said. Go see that kid of yours." He paused. "…And that lovely wife of yours."

"Well, that was nice of him." I kissed him quickly on the cheek. "But, he's wrong."

"How's he wrong?" he questioned.

"I'm not _lovely_."

"True. You're gorgeous, incredible, amazing…" He kissed me a few times on the cheek and I began to laugh. I'm going to drop the baby!

"Harry, refrain!" I laughed as he put his forehead to mine, Thomas's little hand still wrapped around Harry's finger. "Here, do something useful. Can you get Birdie for me? I forgot to get it." That damn seagull that Harry just had to name. I don't know how he talked me into buying it, but Thomas adores it. Its' his favorite stuffed animal and even in my arms, he just loves to cuddle with him. Besides, Birdie is awfully cute, and soft, and adorable…but I can't admit it to Harry.

"Sure." He stood up and went to the crib, digging for it. There are so many toys in that crib, I think we went a little overboard. Then again, he's our baby and since we're first-time parents, I think we're allowed to go overboard. A second later, Harry handed it to me over my shoulder and I tilted the seagull's head, as if he was alive. Thomas giggled in delight as I made the seagull give him a kiss on the cheek. He laughed even more so than before. He kneeled down to face us and smiled happily. "If he isn't Thomas Andrews's grandson, I don't know who is."

"We can't keep him away from water, no matter how hard we try," I laughed. "Oh, Thomas, Thomas, Thomas…" I mused, my voice trailing off.

"Thomas Andrews-Lowe." I glanced at Harry, leaning back into the chair once more. "Antoinette." He looked up from the baby to me. "I'm so glad we named him after your father." I smiled.

"I think the name suits him."

"I think so, too." And my father…I sighed, closing my eyes momentarily.

"God," I breathed, "I wish he was here to see him." Harry stared at me, sadness filling his eyes.

"He's around," he tried to reassure me. And I suppose he's right. No, I know he's right. My father's around. Whenever I read that notebook out loud to Thomas, I feel as if I'm with him again. And without him, I know I never would've met Harry, I know all of these incredible things wouldn't have happened to me. Even though it's been over a year since I last saw him, it really doesn't feel like it's been that long. I lost him, though. I know that. But only physically. It took me a long time to realize that. I lost him as a person, I didn't lose what made him precisely _him_, what made Thomas Andrews tick.

What I knew of my father, what Harry knew of him, what my father and I had done during my childhood—from the summer house to the time it took to build Titanic, Thomas will know of his grandfather. I'll make sure of it.

"Hey," he whispered to me, nuzzling my cheek with his nose. I nodded at him. "Want to have another one?" I stared at him, eyes wide. Is he serious? He's the one who didn't have to struggle for two days trying to deliver him…do I want to do that again? Not really. Do I want to deal with the morning sickness, not being able to eat, not being able to fit into my clothes?

"No." We said it at the same time and found ourselves laughing. Thomas began to giggle himself and we both looked down at him. He looked over at Harry and then to me.

"I think one's enough," he told me, with a nod.

"Thank you."

"Either way, it's incredible." I raised an eyebrow at him.

"What is?"

"We did _that_." He gestured to Thomas before smiling at me. "Can you believe it?"

"No." I laughed at myself, for the tone of my voice sounded so amazed at it all.

"Me, either," he answered truthfully. "But, as parents…" Oh, God, not again. I groaned.

"We are _not_ telling him how we met, Harry," I told him, trying not to laugh. "We've been over this how many times now?" When Thomas is older, Harry wants to tell him how we met, oh so badly. And frankly, I think the less he knows, the better.

"Well, we talked about it last week, a few Saturday's ago…" he said, beginning to count on his fingers.

"I didn't mean literally!" He smiled at me.

"But, why not?" he probed. "It's awfully romantic."

"Sure, it's as romantic as peeling wallpaper."

"Oh, come on, Antoinette!" he laughed. I rolled my eyes at him.

"Can you imagine the conversation? He comes home twenty years from now. Mom, I just met the love of my life. On a boat." I paused for emphasis. "And then I'll have to say: Son, you are not going to marry that woman you met on the boat." He laughed.

"And then he can say, but you and Dad…"

"But, it was a different time, I'd tell him. The world was crazy—"

"And unpredictable—"

"And I couldn't resist a man in uniform." We chuckled at our own humor.

"Besides, I think this little one's going to be a lot like his mother." I raised an eyebrow.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" He leaned in closer to me, as Thomas dropped his father's hand. I giggled.

"It means he's going to give us a run for our money."

"Just like his mother?" I questioned, raising an eyebrow. As if _I'm_ the troublemaker in this situation. He nodded, kissing me.

"Just." A kiss. "Like." Another kiss. "His mother."

THE END.

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…_So sad to see the story end, but I think I ended it appropriately. I really grew to love both Antoinette, Harry and of course I already loved Thomas Andrews. I really didn't want to end it! Anyhow, I'd like to thank everyone that has been reading the story of Antoinette Andrews since the first day I posted and of course, to everyone who took time out of their busy lives and schedules to review as of Friday, May 18__th__, 2007, when I'm typing this up: (in no particular order) _**Grown and Sexy**, **overactive imagination**, **Anne Becker**, **CoCaInE CoWgIrL**, **Assassinated Dreams**, **doctor's gal 1792**, _and_ **shariena**. _Thank you so much and I hope I didn't miss anyone! The reviews really helped me conquer my ever-constant writer's block and really gave me the push I needed to write more. And of course, to the people who put the story on their alert/favorite lists (for both the story and me as an author), that made me so happy, so thanks to you, too! Really, I was giddy with excitement—you have no idea! Well, it's been a fun ride and as of right now, this is the final installment of the happy couple. I hope you enjoyed it (the reader) as much as I enjoyed writing it. Keep checking back—I may be working on a new story right now. You just never know with me._

— The Author (Gina)


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